


The Flat in Bath

by Ada_P_Rix (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, F/M, Kidnapping, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:33:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 60,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24826864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Ada_P_Rix
Summary: On indefinate HIATUS.Please do not read if you are looking for an ending as it is likely that there will not be one.Apologies for any offence caused._____Loosely inspired by 365 Days...-- Malfoy grabbed her chin, forcing her to look directly at him. “Don’t you dare, Granger...” He told her roughly as his intense gaze bored into her own. “I fucking forbid you to come until I’ve had enough of you...” Draco caught her cheeks now between the fingers of his free hand and then snapped her head to the side and licked her earlobe, trailing down to her jawline. “...one flutter of those delicious walls of yours and you’re going to wish you never opened your legs for me.” --__________________Hermione is kidnapped during a raid and taken captive by someone who doesn't plan on 'torturing' her in the conventional  way...__________________________
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 164
Kudos: 412





	1. Bindings

* * *

The bindings pinched against her skin as the darkness surrounded her. As she came to, she knew that something was wrong. She was sitting, she knew that much, but she couldn’t seem to make out the surroundings of the quiet room she was in. 

Blindfolded. She had been blindfolded. Some sort of blackout charm.

Her head hurt and she was sure that she had been out of it for a good few hours. Whoever had stupefied her had made good work of making sure they had remained anonymous. Hermione wondered if anyone from The Order even knew she was here? Had anyone seen her being stunned and kidnapped? Would there be anyone coming for her?

She wiggled her hands within the bindings, her arms around the back of a spindly chair. Nope. They weren’t going to budge. She moved her feet, realising that they weren’t bound. How peculiar ... she wasn’t immobilised from the waist down. It also struck her that she could feel a draft against her skin, which, to her horror, made her think that she was currently sitting there in her underwear. 

Plain garments... white. They weren’t the most attractive, which she felt glad of in her current predicament as she didn’t want some disgusting Voldemort follower looking at her and finding her alluring.

Alarm, panic and shame suddenly rose up inside of her. What type of sick, fucked up and depraved individual would undress a lady before tying them to a chair? All kinds of horrible images rushed through her brain as she tried her bindings again, wishing she hadn’t been so stupid as to have been caught mid-fight during a raid. She’d let her guard down momentarily, and would now more than likely be paying for it for the rest of her life. 

She heard a noise and her head instantly turned in the direction of it. Hermione used her training to try and take in the subtle noises and use her other senses to dissect the situation. Was the noise a door opening? Was it someone quietly sitting into a seat opposite her? She could most definitely hear clothes rustling, and there was a strong smell of musky vanilla and spearmint within the smell of the otherwise musty room. 

“Don’t try to assess the situation.” She jumped and almost shouted when she heard a voice directly in front of her, but not too close that she felt threatened. “There’s no point, you’ll only know what I want you to know ... see what I want you to see.”

She frowned, a certain tone to the voice that she was familiar with ... 

“What are you going to do to me?” she asked, still testing her bindings. “You know there’s nothing I will tell you. I’ll die before you get any information out of me.” She spat, feeling anger at the situation suddenly bubbling up inside of her. 

She heard a snigger, a scrape of feet and knew her capture had stepped a little closer into the room. “What makes you think I want information?” he asked, sounding curious as his voice was kept low and menacing. “What I want from you has nothing to do with The Order...” 

Her blood froze. She recognised the tone in his voice and automatically registered what this man was saying to her. He was going to play with her. Toy, manipulate, possibly even torture her... all for his own sick enjoyment. 

Hermione wouldn’t be the first, and she wouldn’t be the last either. Plenty of resistance fighters had been taken captive By Voldemort’s followers. Taken captive and tortured or otherwise just for a Death Eaters enjoyment. Hermione just had to hang on to the hope that she would be rescued before something sinister or life threatening actually happened to her. 

She lifted her chin in defiance, hoping that whoever it was caught the look of determination on her face through her blindness. “Do your worst, then...” she told him defensively. “Because nothing you can do will ever break me.”

Hermione heard a dark chuckle, before the blackout spell placed on her eyes was suddenly lifted. She squinted to adjust her eyes to her surroundings and take in all of the details all at once; the marble black floor, the mirrored walls, the open black blackout curtains to her left that let in a sliver of sunlight... a small single bed to her right with black bedding. This wasn’t the dusty, dank room she had imagined, which surprised her.

“Is that what you want me to do?”

Then her eyes looked for the voice. For him.

The details she could make out were limited, but she could gather that he was tall; his shoulders were wide and framed by a black suit, with a black shirt that was opened to just below the collar, stretching across a lean and chiselled chest. Silver cufflinks glistened when they caught the slightest bit of light within the room, and an expensive watch sat snug on his wrist, emphasising a thick forearm. 

Hermione could make out a trim waist with a belt and silver buckle, and smart black trousers that covered thick thighs. Finishing the look were leather shoes that were so clean you could eat your dinner off them. The way the light cast over his body but left his face in the shade reminded her of Belle seeing the Beast for the first time. 

There was something familiar about the way he was dressed, the way he stood; strong legs parted, back straight. Confident, self-assured. Everything about him was intense. Dominant. Overwhelming. The aura he emitted draped around Hermione like a cloak, bringing a fever to her skin and made her acutely aware of how small and out of control she felt in that moment. 

“I asked you a question.” His voice is icy, making Hermione flinch out of the trance she found herself momentarily in.

Her throat went a little dry when she noticed the small, tell-tale flash of blonde hair when he moved in his dominant stance slightly. “I want you to go fuck off and leave me alone.” She told him in a smaller voice now, the reality of her situation crashing down on to her. Realising who he was and what was about to happen to her. 

He stepped fully out of the shadows now, his wicked grin causing her to shiver and retry her bindings once again. He walked into the middle of the room, his height and broadness almost overwhelming her as she took him in, feeling daunted and overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events. 

“Not before I’ve had my fun with you, Granger ...” he told her menacingly. “Wouldn’t want to waste an opportunity like this ...” 

Draco Malfoy had turned into a very cruel, depraved and manipulative man.

And Hermione knew that if she ever got out of there alive then a part of her was going to die inside that room while he kept her there. She would never truly be free again. 

“You’re disgusting.” She spat, trying her best to antagonise him. “You can rape my mind and you can rape my body, but you will never break me or bring me down to your depths ... I am so much more than you will ever be.” She shouted angrily and tried so hard to free herself from her bindings, but Malfoy remained unaffected. 

He slowly and agonisingly dragged a chair into the middle of the room, putting it directly opposite her, its back was facing her before he straddled it, putting his arms over the back and folding them, giving her a good view of exactly how big his forearms actually were.

That smirk still hadn’t moved from his face. “I’m not here to rape you, Granger ...” he told her in a very low toned, his words almost rumbling out of him.

“You can’t hurt me.” She answered bravely, seeing his eyes twinkling devilishly. 

She watched as he stood from his chair and took a smooth step towards her, grabbing her chin, his thumb rubbing over her lips as she tried to pull away from him. He bent himself low so that they were eye level and when he looked at her, she saw nothing but fire and fury. He wrapped one hand in her hair to keep her head still, while he brought his face so close to hers that she could feel his breath on her cheeks ... could smell the spearmint.

“Oh no, Granger, I don’t want to hurt you ...” His whispered voice wrapped around her, as smooth as Fire whiskey and just as lethal. He was so menacingly close to hers now that his lips grazed the corner of hers, making her eyes flutter shut despite herself as they moved up to her cheekbone, to her ear. “I want to fucking destroy you.”

  
  


* * *

Hermione had been in and out of consciousness for the rest of the day. Malfoy had left her there, still tied to the chair and had not been back since telling her of his depraved intentions. And what did he mean by destroy her? Her blood ran cold at the thought of him getting the better of her ... she had never allowed it to happen before. 

The man was someone she had despised since school. Always needing to get the better of each other, always needing to be the one to come out on top. Hermione hadn’t seen him since his Aunt had tortured her ... since they’d gotten so close to finding those last Horcrux’s ... before everything had started to fall apart. 

They hadn’t made it on time. Harry hadn’t made it on time. And now he was gone, and those that remained to fight had joined the Order and were now outcast within Wizarding society, needing to hide themselves for fear of being found and tortured by Voldemort’s followers. 

Hermione went on regular patrols, mostly to tend to the injured or to fill in if there was an injured party who couldn’t attend. That was the predicament she had found herself in that very night that she had been captured. Wrong place wrong time. 

And now she would pay for it.

Hermione was fully aware that Malfoy would have put wards up, silencers and all manner of charms to ensure that she remained hidden, her location would remain unknown. He was ruthless and evil and everything that she despised ... and yet, when she was younger there was part of her that refused to admit it, but admired that about him. Because he always did what he wanted, got what he needed, regardless of the consequences.

Malfoy didn’t let people stand in the way of going after what he wanted... and now, for some unfathomable reason, that was her. Or maybe she was wrong? Because he didn’t want her. She was pretty sure he hated her. He wanted to own her. Make her just another of his possessions. He wanted the bragging rights of telling his vile little Death Eater friends that he had brought down Hermione Granger. 

It wasn’t going to happen, no matter what he did to her.

Her eyes shot to the door when she heard it click open. They both stared at each other. The glimmer in his eyes and the cruel twist of his lips told her that he could read her every thought. He walked—no, he prowled towards her and grabbed her chin, his fingers tightening painfully. She bit her tongue to stop the whimper from escaping until she tasted a metallic taste coat her mouth. 

He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip roughly as a wicked grin slid onto his face. She looked down to see a droplet of blood coating his thumb. Her blood. His tongue poked out, swiping it away. He grinned as her eyes widened at the gesture.

“Right now, I own you Granger. Every breath is mine, every beat of your heart belongs to me, including the dirty blood flowing through your veins. I’m going to consume every single fucking inch of you.” His voice was rough and the hand on her chin was holding her tight. 

She watched as his eyes raked over her body, taking in her curves and the modest underwear she was wearing. He felt her shudder against him as her rage consumed her. The outrage of knowing that he could just look at her like this and she was powerless to stop it. 

And then he did the unthinkable, to intimidate her.

He dropped his lips to her neck and shoulder, grazing them against her skin and making her squirm as her bindings were unable to let her pull away from him. She felt his travelling down her most sensitive points and tried so hard not to give him a reaction. She would not show weakness. His hand curled further into her hair and tipped her head back, leaving her completely open to him. She didn’t want to think about it, but his surprisingly soft lips on her most sensitive spots were not leaving her completely unaffected ... and she hated herself for it.

She closed her eyes to block out the view as she felt Malfoy get down onto his knees in front of her, trying his best to break her, get some sort of reaction from her. She refused to even give him the slightest indication that he was a threat to her. She was not scared of Draco Malfoy and his intimidation tactics. 

“Open your eyes.” He told her demandingly, his lips leaving her neck. 

“Go and fuck yourself.” She replied defiantly. 

She felt her head being gripped harder and her hair felt as if it was going to be ripped from her skull. She cried in pain and heard his rough voice in her ear again. “I said, open your fucking eyes Granger.”

She reluctantly did as she was told, if only to make the pain stop. When she finally opened her eyes, she saw him watching her with a malicious look in his eyes. His nose was practically touching hers, and when she felt his free hand grip her right thigh, she started to panic. Her eyes must have given it away, because his next sentence made her rethink the whole situation. 

“I told you I’m not here to rape you, Granger ...” his hand parted her thighs and she felt his hips moving forward until he was fully in-between her legs, hers parting widely to accommodate the expanse of him. “I’m going to destroy you until you can’t think of anything else but me...” 

He brought both hands to rest on her thighs now, and his face was going back to her neck. Hermione couldn’t shuffle back or move away from him. She was trapped, completely open to him and any wicked notion that he had in that moment. 

Hermione felt his lips first, pressing against her collarbone. She concentrated on the grain of the wood on the door that he had entered through. Concentrated on the Shine of the black tiles of the floor and the villa musk of his aroma. She tried so hard to block out the feeling of his hands making small circles on her thighs, or his lips grazing over the skin of her neck but never quite touching her. She tried really hard to fight the feeling of his hips between her thighs, so close to her most intimate area but not quite applying enough pressure... 

Hermione didn’t want this. Couldn’t want this. She would rather be tortured by some medieval device than be subjected to having Draco Malfoy lay his hands on her and create a different type of torture altogether. This was humiliating ... this served no purpose other than to destroy her resolve and make her shame so unbearable that she would have to live with the notion that Draco Malfoy had been her undoing for the rest of her life. 

She pulled back as far as she could, trying to prove the point that he would never really have her, never really destroy the part of her that he wanted to. This time, his hands grabbed her hips and roughly brought them forwards until they were crushed by his own. Hermione’s eyes widened as her most sensitive part met his hard one. 

“Don’t fight this, Granger ...” Malfoy told her harshly, his chest almost flush with hers. “Be a good girl and I promise I won’t leave you hanging for too long ....” 

Hermione swallowed and looked him in the eyes. What did he mean by that? Leave her hanging literally? Leave her hanging around in this room for months? The connotations were too vast ... he was the master manipulator. The years had obviously hardened him beyond repair since Hogwarts ... eight years was a long time to be around evil people. 

When his hand came back up to the back of her neck to bring her completely forward, Hermione felt his whole body up close, all the hardness of his person and then the subtle softness again of his lips lightly pressing against the junction between her neck and shoulder. She could hear his heavy breathing against her skin and she could tell by the way his demeanour was tensed that he was clearly restraining himself from fully inflicting himself upon her. 

Hermione felt the trace of his lips across her left shoulder, the hand at her neck lightly massaging the skin there and his free hand seemed to be getting dangerously close to the inside of the top of her thigh. She tried so hard to keep herself still and silent, but when she felt the warmth and wetness of his tongue against her collarbone, she bit back a small moan in her throat as her body unwillingly betrayed her. 

The betrayal was bitter because Hermione knew deep down that she had always found Draco Malfoy dangerously attractive. The bigoted badboy that she wasn’t allowed to think about, and yet... she sometimes did. He was horrible and loathsome and she didn’t like him very much ... but in her adolescence, it didn’t stop her from touching herself at the thought of him every once in a while. But this ... this was unfounded. This was wrong and they both knew it. 

Malfoy must have felt her tense, because his body suddenly moulded closer to hers to keep her in position as his tongue licked the base of her neck and trailed all the way up to below her earlobe., where she shivered at the impact. “I’m going to break you in the worst possible way, Granger...” the hand at the top of her thigh let his fingers whisper over her skin, skimming the seam at the edge of her knickers, so close to her core. “...I’m not going to give you what you want ...” his breath on her ear unwillingly made her heartbeat pick up. “...until you ask me...” his fingers brushed against her clit through her knickers. 

A jolt went through her, unexpected and completely unwanted. Malfoy’s lips were now assaulting her jaw, neck and earlobe in grazes, licks and nips here and there and Hermione found herself unintentionally leaning into his touch as the hand at her core started to stroke her with intent through her underwear. 

“Tell me to stop...” He told her through gritted teeth. She knew he was bating her, trying so hard to get any type of reaction from her.

Hermione was trying so hard to not react to his touch. This was wrong on so many levels. This was not supposed to happen. She was either meeting him head on to do this to prove to him that she could not be beaten, even like this... and then he would have her and win. Or; she was going to beg him to stop and then he would still win... 

“Granger...” his tongue flicked her earlobe and she couldn’t help but buck instinctively at the feeling, which in turn pushed her pelvis right into the fingers massaging her folds and rubbing her clit in small, gentle circles. She couldn’t help the breath that she sucked in through gritted teeth. “...tell me to stop...” 

The sensations were new and she tried so hard to dampen them down and not feel them, but she felt fuzzy-headed and lost in the way Malfoy was making her feel, whether she wanted it or not. And yet still... she wouldn’t tell him to stop. 

His lips were making their way down the front of her neck again now, a wet trail going all of the way down to her chest. Hermione’s thighs were shaking under the continuing feel of his fingers playing with her, tormenting the sensitive flesh between her legs. The hand holding her neck clutched at it, making her head snap back to cause her torso to arch slightly, giving Malfoy even more access and giving her new sensations. 

Hermione felt the fingers on her clit get a little rougher, causing her to bite her lip, refusing to let out the moan that was building up inside of her. She could feel his stubble against the soft mound of her breast pushing out of the top of her bra as his lips grazed along there softly, making her jump slightly whenever he nipped the area. She knew he was doing it to get her to tell him to stop, to see how much she could take before she ... 

_Oh, god ..._

“Oh...” something was stirring inside of her as she felt him go even harder against her clit. His body was all over her, controlling her and making her hate herself for feeling that familiar feeling rise inside of her ... that one feeling that she never thought Malfoy would ever make her feel ...

Malfoy grabbed her chin, forcing her to look directly at him. “Don’t you dare, Granger...” He told her roughly as his intense gaze bored into her own. “I fucking forbid you to come until I’ve had enough of you...” Draco caught her cheeks now between the fingers of his free hand and then snapped her head to the side and licked her earlobe, trailing down to her jawline. “...one flutter of those delicious walls of yours and you’re going to wish you never opened your legs for me.”

Hermione couldn’t help the moan that left her throat at his words and her head bent back on its own accord. Partly terrified but partly turned on at the thought of the torture he could physically inflict upon her, whether she wanted it or not. 

“And keep quiet.” He instructed, surprising her by moving her knickers to the side and suddenly inserting two fingers into her tight passage, making them both hiss. “One more sound out of you and I’ll make you regret it...” he nipped at her collarbone and she struggled to bite back the sound in the back of her throat. Draco then grabbed a fistful of her hair again, forcing Hermione to look him dead in the eye. “...don’t provoke me.”

She was going to explode. The situation had her on a knives edge and she didn’t know what to do for the best. She just knew that right now she was heading towards something and it was Draco Malfoy who was taking her there. 

She heard him grunt and a reactionary thrust of his hips into her made her feel his erection pressed up against the inside of her left thigh. This in turn pressed his fingers deeper inside of her and she felt her walls starting to clench at his fingers ... she was getting so close, hating what he was doing to her but unable to stop her body from reacting. 

And then it was all gone. 

His fingers, his lips, his body, his touch. All disappearing as she was so close to ... something. And he was smirking at her with so much self-satisfaction that she did the only thing she could do. 

Hermione spat at him. The spray trickled down his cheek and to his chin. Anger exploded within him and before she knew it his hand was round her throat and he was pinning her against the chair roughly, his breath on her face. She had certainly awoken the beast.

His fingers squoze the sides of her neck threateningly. The gleam in his eye was feral. “I’m not going to make you come, Granger ... not until you beg me for it and give into me...” he was practically snarling in her face. “I’m going to break you and make you want my touch over and over ... you were wet for me, Granger... so now I now you’re not unaffected by me, I know what kind of reactions I can get from you...” his nose brushed hers as his eyes tore into hers. “... when you do give in, I’m going to have you fucking screaming ... you’re going to want my come all inside you ... I’ll break you down and spit you out and mark you ...” he smirked at her maliciously. “...I’ll ruin you for any other man you fuck ... I’ll own you... you’ll only think of me and what I can do to you for the rest of your days.”

And then he stepped away, wiping his cheek and giving her a disgusted look. “Get a shower... I’ll be back later.” 

When Malfoy closed the door behind him, her bindings disappeared. Her sore arms were free to move, yet she still felt immobile. She couldn’t stand the way she felt, the way he had made her feel. He was going to torture her sexually ... and she didn’t know how much she would be able to take. 

* * *


	2. Fighting Spirit

* * *

She attempted numerous ways of escape before giving in. She knew it was fruitless in the first place, but owed it to herself to at least attempt the door or the window. Even trying to apparate, but it was no use ... Malfoy had penned her in and left her completely to his mercy. 

She had spent a few minutes wondering how she could shower without a bathroom, until she found that the room she was occupying had a door that lead her to her own shower room. Then, she spent a few minutes wrestling with the idea of not showering on purpose, knowing that Malfoy might not want to get his hands on her again if she was unclean. 

The thought almost ran over until she realised that she felt unclean and dirty because of him, so decided to shower for herself and her own sanity. And as the hot spray cascaded down onto her, she tried to block of the betrayals from her body earlier. Yes, Malfoy had her pinned and yes, he was performing all kinds of sordid acts upon her body ... but did that mean she had to react to them in the way that she did? 

Could she call it assault? After all, in the back of her mind she couldn’t deny that she didn’t tell him to stop when he told her to. She didn’t say no, and he kept going ... kept going and going until – 

Hermione shampooed her hair vigorously, getting the image of his large body in front of her and his stormy eyes out of her brain. The man was a bastard. A hard, horrible, manipulative bastard and she was going to have to fight hard or beat him at his own game. She was just petrified of Malfoy only being part of a smaller picture ... what if there was a much bigger picture and she just didn’t know it yet? 

“You certainly filled out, Granger...” 

Hermione screamed and turned around, hands instantly coming up to hide her most private parts. “Get out!” she shouted at him, flushed in the face from his unwanted invasion. “How dare you-“ 

His eyes were taking her in, travelling up and down the length of her and stopping at her eyes, fire in his when he finally smirked at her. “Your dinner is on the table.” And then he walked out, leaving her gaping at his audacity... the man was a twat. 

Stepping out of the shower and made sure she had a towel firmly wrapped around herself. She towel dried her hair as best she could and then stomped into the bedroom, not expecting to see him sitting there on the other side of the little two-seater table that was against the mirrored wall on the left side of the room. He was drumming his fingers on the edge of the table, as if waiting impatiently for her to sit down. 

What was all of this? The intimidation, the ... touching ... the highly inappropriate lack of spacial awareness when it came to personal grooming ... and now he was feeding her? She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, because she knew he was torturing her in every which way except physically. It was any wonder he would actually let her sleep on the bed ... 

She’d gone and made herself angry again, and his presence wasn’t helping at all. She was impulsive and passionate and responsive – she was going to make him regret intruding on her shower experience. Instinctively, when she reached the table, Hermione picked up her salad bowl and threw the contents at him.

_Shit_. 

As soon as she’d done it; felt the initial triumph of getting one over on him, she knew that she regretted it. He sat there, salad leaves decorating his shoulders, dressing dripping down his shirt, and some of it sliding down his neck. For a moment he didn’t even blink. Then he was moving. His chair tipped back, and he was going for her.

She panicked and ran. Where, she didn’t know, as there was nowhere to go. She headed for her bathroom again and as she reached the door, he was on her. He propelled her inside and flattened her against the emerald tiled wall with only his hand on her chest holding her in place. He wasn’t hurting her, but his strength was astonishing.

Hermione couldn’t move forward, but she bloody well tried. He pinned her in place with only his palm. Like a butterfly stuck to a window, she could only flap her arms about as she tried to move. She was breathing hard, and so was he. Obviously trying to figure out what he was going to do with her as punishment. The thought made her shudder.

His face was harsh, cruel even, but still annoyingly quite handsome, as he always had been. His eyes didn’t match his stony features; they were blazing, on fire with anger, but something else too. The strange, unprohibited intensity between them was once more fanned to life, snapping at her skin, making her tingle with it, but she willed it away. This was his way of gaining leverage over her and nothing more, he had said it himself. Malfoy might have told her he was going to fuck her for his own personal amusement, but only if she caved first ... and she couldn’t...

“Are you quite done?” he asked her in a growl, his face close to hers. “Because if not, please warn me next time so I don’t waste my fine china on your rageaholic tendencies.”

“Why would I eat anything you give me? It might be poisoned.” She told him angrily and her hand came up to his, dragging it away from her chest and pushing him in his own to move him away from her. “I’d rather starve.” 

Hermione saw his eyes set dangerously. “That’s the chance you’ve got to take, isn’t it?” she watched him walk away, out of the bathroom, then heard him mutter a spell with his wand and the plate and salad sat back upon the table like nothing had happened, his shirt clean of all stains.

_Wand ... he’s got his wand ..._

“Are you going to fight me forever? Or do you just want to submit to me now, Granger? Get it over with?” he studied her with a grin on her face, thinking he was getting the better of her.

Forgetting the idea that sprung to her mind momentarily, Hermione set her face in stone. “Submit to you?” she closed the distance between them. “You may take my body, my soul, and you may keep me here as a prisoner, but I will never be yours.” Each word is slow, full of anger and hatred.

He didn’t like that.

He moved so fast once again, closing the rest of the distance between them and obviously really not liking the fact that she answered him back. Wrapping her still damp curls around his wrist, forcing her head back and exposing her neck. His fingers stroked her throat as he dragged his teeth over his bottom lip, watching the base of her neck flutter like a trapped butterfly. When his eyes returned to hers, it was like he was drawing her into a black hole from which she was unable to escape from. Hermione could do nothing but stare into his eyes as he let them consume her, devour her. 

“That’s where you're wrong.” He leaned in and brushed his lips over the side of her mouth, before nipping her bottom lip, then licking it. “You’ve always been partly mine really, haven’t you— _Hermione_?” he drew in a breath, looking like he was trying to take control of his emotions. “You might say you hate me, but you can’t deny the way you react to me, even back then – there was something about me, wasn’t there?” he sneered at her. 

“You are despicable.” She ground out through her teeth, trying to push him away but he grabbed hold of both of her shoulders now, gripping her to the point where she knew she would bruise. “You were an evil, bigoted little bastard in school, and now –“ She stopped herself, not quite knowing what he would do if she told him what she thought. 

He shook her shoulders, and the fire in his eyes was daring her to go on. He wanted to hear this ... he wanted the fighting and the goading ... he was getting off on it, Hermione could see his eyes darkening with something akin to lust. He was a filthy, depraved and tortured soul. 

“Say it,” he spoke in a low voice, filled with warning, and shook her again to show her that he was being serious. Danger surrounded them, circling. He smirked when Hermione didn’t reply, but her anger rose to match his.

“You’re just like your father. You became everything you could have changed about yourself! You’re a coward.” Her voice was unrecognizable. It didn’t shake, and there was no fear. Each word was low, steady.

Hermione wanted him to hear every single one, wanted him to feel each strike. Her breath left her as her back got slammed against the glass of the bedroom wall, his hand at her throat again, stroking her skin as if petting her predatorily. The blaze burning inside of her was turning into something else. 

Not desire, no. But it was a rush of a feeling. Something that had gone through her mind a few times during her later years at Hogwarts ... something that had always burned her slightly. Like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to kill him or fuck him. Didn’t know whether she would prefer to stab him with the butter knife or crash her lips down onto him just to shut him – 

No. Absolutely fucking not. Those thoughts would never enter her head, because she refused to ever see Malfoy like that in this situation. He would not get the best of her. She was his captive, his play thing ... he was not seducing her to love her, he was seducing her to break her.

Hermione shuddered when his fingers made small circles on her collarbone, she felt his body pressing into hers as he tried to intimidate her. “Harsh words for a girl who hides from the battlefield, hoping she doesn’t have to play with the big boys...” his eyes flashed mischievously. “...who stays in the shadows, preferring to fix people than fight... I’d say that’s being a coward, wouldn’t you?” Malfoy was pressed against her so hard, she could feel the outline of his body against hers. 

Hermione went to spit at him again, but he intercepted and put his hand over her mouth harshly. “I fucking hate you, Draco Malfoy.” She told him through his hand, trying to push him off her now.

  
Clawing at him, desperate and wild, her fist was banging against his chest. “I hate you,” she whispered again, her throat raw with anguish. 

He grabbed her wrists, twisting her so she started to travel back towards the bed, pushing her onto the mattress with a thud, arms pinned above her head, his eyes as wild as her own. 

“Say it again.” There was a dare in his voice, and his chest was heaving the same way Hermione’s was.

She narrowed her eyes, gritting her teeth together, leaning upwards until she could see her reflection in his now black eyes. “I hate you...” 

Before a thought had time to process, his lips crashed down on her neck, wild, angry, untamed. His teeth and tongue clashed against her skin like a mighty tidal wave, his hands tearing at every part of her skin he could touch. “Say. It.” He demanded again ... and then she realised what he wanted, what he was trying to make her do.

His name. He wanted _his_ name. 

Teeth bit into the skin of her neck lightly, making her elicit a sound from her lips somewhere between a hiss and a groan. Pain and a small bit of pleasure. It was like he was a wild animal, marking, claiming and destroying, just like he said he would. It was all with the same hatred that burned inside of both of them, and he was using it to make them both burn in some sort of fucked up pain and pleasure. “Say it.” He growled again. 

Something formed in Hermione’s stomach; maybe fear? Maybe repulsion?... the unwilling spark of dark desire? Maybe it was all three. He picked her up as if she weighed nothing, sitting her on top of him on the bed, holding the back of her neck to keep her in place. He wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing their lower bodies together and his fingers dug in to her thighs when she tried to push off him, causing her to hiss.

“Granger...” He whispered dangerously, her name on his lips like he was on his knees in church and she was his final prayer. “Fucking say it.” 

Hermione was on the edge of something, hanging on the cliff with just her fingertips. She had leverage ... something she could use to bargain with him. Something akin to a trick up her sleeve.

She knew something he wanted now, and she knew she could withhold it from him to get something she wanted in return.

Hermione leaned in defiantly, her lips so close to his and she saw his eyes dart to them momentarily. “No.” She breathed, looking him dead in the eye. “I’ll never say your name like you want me to, Malfoy ...” her lips curled in a malicious smile. “...you’ll never hear me say it for you... scream it for you ... I’ll never give you what you want....” 

His hand came to her throat, his thumb pressing against her pulse point as his nose touched hers as he looked into her eyes with deep-seated ferocity. “Oh, I’ll make you Granger ... one way or another...”

“You think you play a good game?” She asked quietly, trying hard to avoid the feeling of his fingers fluttering along her throat. She’d never experienced this before the last few hours, the feel of a man’s hand around her throat ... was she supposed to hate it? Was it supposed to feel So ... forbidden? All of these thoughts were unwarranted and she knew she shouldn’t even be entertaining them.

_It’s the moment and the intensity of it all... the push and the pull... nothing more._

“Game?” he practically growled at her, his lips whispering along her jawline as the hand around her throat turned her face up slightly. The other hand was on her thigh, pulling it further around him until their groins touched.

Hermione jumped slightly as her most private area – naked due to the towel riding up to her waist – connected with his black pants, his hard length hitting her clit as he bucked his hips menacingly towards her. 

“The seduction game.” She told him throatily, seeing the devilish look in his eye at the sound of her voice ... she was trying so hard to hide any reaction to him, but that one slipped out.

Malfoy slowly bucked his hips up against her again and smiled. “It’s not a game, Granger...” 

She bit her lip at the contact again, and watched him lick his own as he watched her. She needed to get a grip of the situation she had seemingly created, before it got out of hand. She couldn’t have a repeat of their precious encounter ... it left her too unsatisfied Sexually, and also with her own body’s betrayal of it all. 

Not that she wanted an orgasm from him... the thought sent shivers down her spine. But her body could only take so much pressure in the right places ...

“Let me guess, then...” she let her hands come up to his broad shoulders and dug her nails into them, making him hiss. “...It’s who you are,” she chuckled darkly as his grip on her throat tightened slightly.

“No.” He told her darkly, his lips ghosting along her jawline again until they were at her earlobe. “It’s not a game. I don’t play.” His hips bucked up harshly against her and he took great pleasure in hearing her breath hitch at the connection to her clit. “I’m deadly serious.”

Hermione’s nails dug further into his skin as his hips continued to buck up into her so slowly ... she could feel the movement right on her folds and clit, making her bite her lip again as she refused to show him that he was affecting her and causing those primal feelings within her. She knew he would thoroughly enjoy knowing he was getting the better of her like this, and she refused to show him. 

“I can feel your heat through my trousers, Granger...” he told her in a low voice by her ear. His breathing told her that he also wasn’t as unaffected by his movements as he would have liked. “...don’t try and tell me you can’t be seduced....” 

Malfoy started to pick up the pace of his hips slightly, pushing up into her and causing flashes of pleasurable jolts to strike through her. Gasps and moans died in the back of her throat, not wanting him to know what he was doing to her. She didn’t move, refusing to react to his movements. He still had a hand at her throat and the other on her hip, but he didn’t move her, didn’t try to bring her down onto her. He was serious in what he told her ... he wanted her to cave into him completely ... he wouldn’t fully force her. 

She couldn’t help but open her mouth silently in an ‘O’ and squeeze her eyes shut as he continually bucked up to hit her clit, feeling a small amount of pressure building inside of her. He reached his hand from her throat then and swiped his thumb across her bottom lip.

Hermione’s eyes opened again and she looked down into his, unable to take her eyes away, as he placed his thumb between her lips. Yes, he was deadly serious all right... he was taking a major risk with his thumb, he knew she could bite it if she wanted to.

“Why are you trying to seduce me?” she whispered, and then bit back another groan again as he kept hitting that sweet spot in her centre, torturing her just like he said he would. 

Malfoy used his hand and brought her face within a whisper of his, their lips barely separated from each other’s. “Because deep down, Granger... I know there’s a part of you that wants to know what it feels like...” he brought his lips to hers as if he was about to kiss her and thrust his hips up so hard against her mound that she shivered, feeling something building more and more inside of her ... beside her best intentions of keeping herself in control, she was disgusted with the fact that she had allowed him to feel this way and turn her on like this. She hated herself. 

“...part of you wants to know how it feels to not be in control...” he moved her body impossibly close to his now, their chests flush together as he gripped her forearms, lips almost touching and his groin still grinding upwards at her, getting her close to something. “...to be consumed by the darkness...” 

She shook her head in protest and his eyes darkened. His lips then attached themselves to her neck and he sucked on her hard, making her hiss as a whole array of feelings accosted her at once. That volcanic eruption inside of her was threatening to blow, and she couldn’t let it ... knew he wouldn’t let it... but she was still hurtling towards it.

“I’ll never want it.” She gasped out and felt him chuckle low against her neck as he continued his assault. Hermione's hands subconsciously travelled down from his shoulders all the way to the bottom of his back, feeling the muscles as she went... feeling around...

“...then tell me to stop...” he whispered against her, and his hips picked up a punishing pace against her own, rubbing himself against her. He was hard and brutal and winning. He knew she couldn’t do it ... knew she wouldn’t get him to stop ... she was too stubborn. “...tell me you don’t want my cock buried deep inside of you right now, and I’ll pull away...” 

Hard, forceful and determined thrusts upwards with his hips followed, but Hermione stood her ground. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of telling him no, because he knew he had her... she’d just have to grin and bare the dissatisfaction of having no eventual relief... even if she was right on the edge... 

A hand slipped down from her face and into her slick folds without her realising, and he put a thumb against her clit as he continued to thrust. Her eyes widened, her breath caught and a moan she didn’t mean to make crept out from between her lips. 

“Oh...” she was close ... a few more circles of his thumb against her clit and ... 

She felt him shift, and she momentarily wanted to berate him for the removal of his fingers, until she realised what he was doing. The words got stuck in her throat as he grabbed her wrist and forced her back to the headboard of the bed.

Metal bit her skin as he used handcuffs she hadn’t seen, fastening them around her wrist to the point of pain. Hermione bit her tongue until she tasted blood, refusing to give him the sounds he wanted. When he pulled her up roughly into a sitting position, she was surprised when he didn’t cuff the other hand. “I told you I’m not letting you come until you give into me completely, Granger...” 

Hermione glared at him, almost baring her teeth as she sat there chained to the headboard. “You’ll be waiting a while, Malfoy.” She snapped at him, a mixture of anger and loss of the sensations he had been inflicting upon her coming out of her.

He sneered at her, but the look in his eyes told her that he was not as unaffected by this as he was trying to make out. The tell-tale way that his eyes raked over her was proof enough that he was thinking about ripping the towel off her that was still covering her slightly, apart from below her waist now. 

“By the way your wet cunt is glistening at me right now, I’d say I’m a lot closer to breaking you than you are to trying to convince yourself that you wouldn’t like me to fuck you.”

He turned his back then, not seeing the look of repulsion on her face and walked out of the door, the sound of a key clicking the lock closed echoed around the mirrored walls.

Alone, and with just the last few rays of the sun visible as they cast a glow through the gap in the curtains, Hermione lifted her free hand, twirling Draco Malfoy’s wand between her finger tips.

She heard the door click back open again, and she couldn’t even prepare herself for the blur of movement as Malfoy came hurtling towards her at breaking speed, not giving her time to hide his wand of give her time to use it. He was upon her, hand around her throat again and grabbing the wand from her roughly. 

Malfoy grabbed her bottom lip between his teeth and bit it, hard. His wand was then at her temple. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way, Granger.” He told her roughly, hearing her gasps as his lip cut further into her lip, drawing blood. “I can do it with my wand, bend you to my will and make you submit to anything I want ....” he then let go of her lip, and let his tongue wipe over the small cut he had caused. “...or I can do it with my body and break you in the way that I want... in the way that you're denying to yourself that you want ...the choice is yours...” 

Hermione turned her head away from him. With his wand she knew he could inflict horrific, possibly permanent damage ... with his body, she knew that although the damage would still be permanent, at least it would be less painful, physically at least ... she hoped.

She said nothing, and that was when he knew. He knew the answer and she heard him chuckle to himself, stowing his wand away from her before righting himself and standing in front of the bed before her.

“When I come back next, I’m going to make you scream, Granger ...” his voice wasn’t threatening, but he sounded determined. “...It will be up to you to choose the outcome...”

She knew what he meant by that. He was either going to make her scream on the cusp of an orgasm, or scream in frustration due to lack of one. She wasn’t sure who she hated more right now; Draco Malfoy for making her feel this way ... or herself for allowing it.

* * *


	3. Splintering

* * *

  
Hermione was absolutely furious. 

Surely, what he was doing was against her Human Rights? ... do Human Rights even come into it when you’re being held captive? That in itself was breaching Human Rights, wasn’t it?

Either way. She was pissed off. All night he had left her there, chained to the bedpost like some poor slave girl, unable to free herself from the clutches of evil. Sleep hadn’t come easy, and she was sure that she had seen every hour on the clock. 

Her stomach was growling and her mouth was so dry. It had been well over two days since she had eaten, and she feared she might have to give into temptation and eat something. She needed another shower too, she felt like a sweaty mess and probably smelled like it too. She was also slightly curious to look inside the wardrobes and draws within the room; something she hadn’t attempted to do since being here. Living in a towel for the rest of her captivity just would not do.

She heard the lock unclick and the door swung open. Hermione wore her most hateful expression as he sauntered into the room, looking large and slightly intimidating. He hadn’t even looked at her, hadn’t even spoken to her or made any type of eye contact. He only locked the door behind himself, came close and untethered her wrist from the headboard. 

“I hope I gave you enough time to think.” He told her casually, walking away from her. She looked up and noticed he wore grey today. Tailor-made pants, waistcoat and a white shirt that had the sleeves rolled up to his forearms.

She hated herself for also noticing the way his pants hugged his arse, like they did in Hogwarts. His physique had matured along with the rest of him. He was now no longer just a tall and lanky teenager, she berated herself for realising that he had filled out very well ... too well. 

Draco Malfoy was a masculine, well-shaped, dominating man and she despised the fact that he had made her notice. His physique matched his personality well, as she found him quite intimidating and his size didn’t help. Hermione had to keep reminding herself that this man was once a scrawny, annoying little bully who was nothing more than dirt beneath her shoe. 

_But there had always been something about him..._

Hermione shook all of the unnecessary thoughts away and concentrated on the now. He was viewing her curiously, like he knew she was thinking about something. “Enough time to think about how good it’s going to feel when I hear you’ve been killed in some horribly gruesome way...” she told him with a smile on her face.

He chuckled at her darkly. Always chuckling ...thinking her attempts at intimidation were funny. He was an absolute arsehole, and he loved to watch her suffer in whatever way possible. 

Hermione rose confidentially from the bed, ignoring the ache in her wrist from the handcuff marks and dragging the towel from yesterday tightly around her. She had to show him that she couldn’t be intimidated by him, show him that he was nothing and no one to her and he couldn’t bate her like he wanted to. 

“I’d love to see the look on your face the day The Order finally catch up to you.” She told him in a low tone as she approached him slowly. “I’d love to watch the light in your eyes fade as the Avada curse strikes your chest...” Hermione saw his eyes glint menacingly at her as she got ever closer. “...the day they come for me, is the day that you die ...” 

Hermione was quick, but Malfoy was quicker. He had her hoisted up and over his shoulder before she could blink. He carried her kicking, clawing and screaming at him into the bathroom, before whipping off the towel she was wearing, depositing her into the shower and turning the cold water on her, blasting her with the icy particles. 

“You really don’t make this easy for yourself, Granger...” he shouted over the sounds of her screaming at the cold water and the shower itself. “But I have to say, I am enjoying your confidence...” 

She hated him. Really fucking hated him. Every reaction was an overreaction with him, like he couldn’t control his outbursts. It was like an involuntary reaction; he hadn’t meant to hurt her because he hadn’t been forceful enough ... he just wanted to prove a point. It was much like when he touched her, it was never forceful ... always soft and coaxing enough to make her not hate it.

He was dangerous. Very, very dangerous.

Because he was unpredictable and his actions never quite met his intentions, which left her confused and constantly on the edge. It was like his actions changed direction at last minute, the impact being dulled for her at the last second. But she still knew he had it in him to be a monster; Death Eaters were impulsive and cruel.

Hermione finally felt the shower warming up as the water dripped off her as she stood beneath the spray. She could see Malfoy’s face and the way his eyes were looking at her ... like he wanted to devour her. His cheeks were pink from his effort to push her into the shower and he was breathing more heavily than before. 

She didn’t even bother to hide her modesty anymore. What was the point? He’d seen it all already, and even if she did hide herself, he could always force her to show him... and judging by the way he was currently looking at her, she felt like she had the upper hand in terms of his need for her. 

He wanted to fuck her. Badly. She could see it in him. He was gagging to get hold of her body and take her ... but he wouldn’t... unless she submitted to him first. 

“You say you admire my confidence, and yet you’re so intent on trying to knock it out of me...” she answered him as she bent her head back into the spray now, playing on the fact that he was watching her shower. He wasn’t the only one who could play these games ... 

“It’s not the confidence I want to knock out of you, Granger.” He told her as he folded his arms across his chest and dropped his head to the side, his eyes gliding over her form and darkening dangerously. “It’s the stubbornness.” 

It was her turn to laugh now, as she let her wet hair drop and fall past her shoulders and felt the foamy lather of the coconut shower gel she was using consume her senses. “You’ll never change me, Malfoy ... don’t disappoint yourself by trying.” 

He was leaning against the edge of the glass shower separator now, one hand scratching the back of his neck absentmindedly and running a hand through his short, blonde hair. He looked momentarily like he was grappling with something, before his mask fell back into place again. “I never said I wanted to change you.” Was all he said. 

Hermione stopped lathering herself momentarily and took him in. His mood changed so quickly she didn’t know where she stood with him from one minute to the next. One moment he was throwing her into the shower like a ragdoll, trying to prove a point. The next moment he looked like he was struggling to keep up the facade of being the big bad Death Eater. 

“You don’t want to change me, you admire my confidence, but you don’t like it when I answer back...” she inspected, starting to shampoo her hair now, smelling the Jasmine and Sweat Pea of the bottle and noticing that he was watching her again as she moved about in the shower, eyes roaming down her thighs and back up to her trim waist. “... you’re fucked up in the head, Malfoy.”

“It’s not as simple as being fucked up, Granger.” He told her as he brushed his thumb along his bottom lip, his eyes still roaming all over her, but not meeting her eyes. “I get off on seeing a confident woman...” then his eyes reached hers and they were like molten lava. “...I get off on seeing the fire in your eyes and the confidence you sometimes think you don’t have, seep from your pores....” Hermione watched as he bit his lip, eyes tracing back to her breasts hungrily. “... I get off on seeing someone whose body shook with fear just a short hours ago, stand up to me...” She watched as his right hand grabbed his cock through his trousers as he gave her a territorial look. “...And, yeah, you have my cock fucking hard because of it.”

Hermione breathed out, feeling embarrassed and not knowing where to look. She made him hard... without him touching her. The look on her face must have made him titter to himself, before giving her one last look up and down with his intense gaze and leaving her to the rest of her shower. 

“Eat and dress before I come to see you next...” he told her as he got to the bathroom door.

“Do you really have nothing better to do than drop in on me every minute of every day?” she asked him with a glare, showering the lather from her hair and body.

“No, Granger...” he answered in a low and dangerous voice. “...you’re all I’ve got going on right now...” 

He left, and Hermione shivered. She felt like she was like his new obsession. 

* * *

She ate with gusto, snacking on ham finger sandwiches and cheese crackers. No poison present so far, and the wine tasted sweet on her palette, making her savour the rich tastes and textures of the food. Her belly full, she did wonder momentarily why he was so intent on making sure she had meals. And why were they nice meals? She was a prisoner, not a guest ... 

And why was her room so ... well kept? Yes, she couldn’t walk out of it ... but the little single bed was comfy and there was a bathroom. This wasn’t like a little prison cell, it felt more like a basic little hotel room. 

After filling herself up on food and wine, Hermione wandered over to the wardrobe. Malfoy had told her to dress so she did wonder how he had managed to find clothes for her. Were they a generic size? Or were they tailored to her? And if they were ... how was that possible? Unless he had been somehow watching her for a while... she didn’t like that thought.

  
Opening the wardrobe doors, her eyes widened instantly. There was nothing in there except underwear sets, baby-doll slips and all other manners of corsets, hosiery and silk dressing gowns. The bastard wanted her in underwear at all times ... all for his viewing pleasure. 

Anger bubbling under her skin again, she rifled through the rack of lingerie, trying to find something that was the least revealing. Something that would repulse him the least when he came back, just to piss him off. She knew he found her attractive – the hardness she had seen and felt up close and personal in his pants were testament to that ... he wanted her.

Huffing begrudgingly, Hermione grabbed a silk and lace black slip dress from off the rack and started to put it on, noticing that it opened down the middle to allow her midriff to peek through. She found a matching pair of black lace French knickers and slipped them on, catching herself in the reflection of the mirrored wall and looking at how sultry she looked. 

Olive skin and golden brown, long curls cascading down her shoulders and back. The black slip hugged her curves in all the right places and she was sure that when Malfoy eventually came back, his eyes would roll into the back of his head. 

Hermione could play the temptation game. She could make him lose his mind without even doing anything. She could torture him more than anything he could do to her, because he knew that he couldn’t have her. He would never have her. She had to give permission, he wouldn’t take her without her consent... or for however long it lasted until the lines became blurred. 

And she knew they already were.

Were they? Did she really think that? Was she willing to think that eventually there would come a point where one of them would snap and they would end up drowning in the darkness and light of each other? Could she go to the darkness with him? Would she let him take her there? 

_If he doesn’t let you come soon then you might end up begging for it ..._

Oh yes, she’d tried to get herself off last night. Feeling antsy and agitated, her skin on fire from the lack of release, knowing that he had caused it. But she couldn’t come. She’d gotten herself right to the edge, and then a wall came up. She couldn’t get past it no matter how she tried ... and that was when she realised that the bastard had charmed her. The only one who could get her off was him ... when she submitted to him. 

She fucking hated him. 

_Speak of the Devil, and he shall appear .._. 

The door to her room opened again, and she watched him enter in all his glowering glory. Same suit he wore earlier, same casual flick of his blonde fringe to push it back on his head, and same smirk that was ever present on his face. 

_Devilishly handsome ..._

Where the fuck had that come from? Hermione didn’t think those things. She didn’t think like that about him. Yes, he was handsome and always had been, and yes, she had thought of him a few times during school to get herself off but – 

“Shit, Granger...” the tone of his voice brought her out of her thoughts. She looked at him standing by the door behind her through the mirror. Could see the intense look he was giving her, feeling his eyes all over her skin. “...you have no idea...” he stopped himself, but kept staring. 

Hermione couldn’t help the blush that crept upon her cheeks, feeling hot under his gaze. He was so unashamed by his masculinity and his love of the female anatomy. Hermione had never been with a man who would so openly stare at her like he wanted to eat her. 

_You’ve not been with him ...._

_Not yet._

What the fuck? What was going on with her brain? Why was she allowing these thoughts to enter her psyche at all?

“How did you feel?” she heard him ask, his eyes concentrating on the roundness of her arse. Hermione shifted uncomfortably, wanting to give a sarcastic answer but not quite able to get it out.

“Good.” She admitted. Good? ... _Lie Hermione, fucking lie..._

“Good isn’t a feeling...” he told her matter of factly as he locked the door and walked into the room, coming to stand just inches behind her. “... I’ll ask you again, how do you feel?”

Hermione’s eyes locked with his in the mirror as she took a deep breath. The words she didn’t want to say were going to spill out of her again, but she couldn’t help herself. “Sexy...” she said quietly. “... confident…” 

He smirked at her and her skin tingled. “It’s working, then ...” 

She frowned momentarily, before it occurred to her. The wine ... he’d put veritaserum in the wine. Her thoughts were all coming out of her mouth and she wouldn’t be able to stop them. He could ask her anything and she would have to give him and tell him.

“You bastard.” She told him venomously, her chest rising and falling in anger at the situation. She was completely at his mercy. 

“Do you like to feel sexy, Granger?” he asked her, his smirk still in place? “Do you like men looking at you and wanting to seduce you?”

She glared at him through the mirror but nodded her head. Total loss of all control.

“Then think of last night....” He took one more step and he was right up behind her now, his front to her back and still staring directly at her. He put his hand on her forearm and traced small circles with his fingers. “... remember how it felt to have your body on top of mine, the way your skin felt so hot at my touch and how badly you wanted to buck your hips down on to mine, even though you refused to give in to it ...” 

Hermione swallowed hard, letting the memories wash over her. And yes, she did remember that it felt good ... so wrong, but good. It felt dark and dangerous and intense...

  
“Your pupils have dilated, Granger...” He told her quietly as Hermione wet her lips with her tongue. “... Your heartbeat has increased....” A flash of memory from last night, his cock rubbing against her clit through his pants ... “You’re reliving those feelings; keep them...” His lips came to her left ear, whispering low and causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up as his hips were flush with her arse.

“...You look sexy as fuck in that little slip dress, Granger...” he whispered in her ear and she had to bite back a moan. “...do you know what I’d like to do right now?”

she shook her head; her mouth going dry.

“Rip it from your body and fuck you into next week.” 

Hermione felt herself being spun around until her front was now against his and he was holding her forearms tightly in his grip.

“Something tells me your struggle with yourself will be beautiful, Granger...” he said in a low and possessive voice. “You know I can ask you anything now, and you’ll tell me ...”

Hermione looked up and glared at him, his close proximity not leaving her unaffected as she noticed her nipples were hard, grating against the lace of the slip. He had her exactly where he wanted her, her mind an open book to him.

“But I don’t need your words, Granger, to get the answers.” His breath ghosted the sensitive skin just under her ear as his head bent towards her. She wanted to push him away, but she didn’t. It was just a game, right? “What turns you on, Granger??” he whispered. His mouth was close to her ear.

She shook her head, unwilling to let the words come out. “I-” she started to whisper back.

“My voice does, I can see that....” He sounded fascinated.

“How?” she asked him thickly, not used to feeling so many emotions at once.

“Your skin is reacting, every word I utter causes goosebumps, just here,” he said, as he ran his nose the length of her neck, feeling her shudder at his touch and he gripped her forearms even tighter and brought their hips together.

“I’m cold,” she tried to lie, she knew it sounded pathetic. She tried not to moan at the feel of his nose against her neck, teasing her like he always did.

His deep throaty chuckle had the hairs on her arms standing on end, let alone goose bumps. Hermione gripped his thick forearms to stop herself from leaning forwards onto his chest. She wouldn’t give in, no matter what he did.

“You’re an arrogant fuck,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Hmm, I’m sure I’d usually agree as arrogance suggests superiority...” he practically purred into her ear. “...yet I’ve worshiped your body since the day you arrived here ... not ruined you because you've not given me permission to ...it’s not my fault you won’t give in to what you want...”

“Oh, please.” She dragged out the word ‘please', but still felt helpless to his touch and his words and his presence.

“I could have made you come, three, four times?” He nipped at her earlobe and she gave a little yelp of surprise. “It’s your own stubbornness that’s stopping it from becoming a reality.”

She felt his forehead press down against hers, and hadn’t noticed that she had been holding her breath. “What changed with you, Malfoy? Which version of the man are you really? The domineering one who sets my nerves on edge? Or this one, with his fancy talk and his intense seduction techniques?”

He let out a breath that he had apparently been holding too. “I am whichever one is required at the time.”

Hermione laughed quietly, and then felt his cheek connect with hers as their noses touched side on “You need therapy.” 

“I have it, right here.” His lips closed around her earlobe again, and he sucked it into his mouth. 

“I’m not qualified,” she said, desperately holding back the moan that wanted to replace her words.

“Then I’ll train you,” he said as he released the lobe and trailed his lips along her jawline. 

“I have a job; I don’t need another.” She told him defiantly, but her breathing was becoming ragged and she could feel herself giving in, just a tiny bit ...

“Do you know what I’d love to do?” Hermione shook her head, although she had half an idea of the dark and depraves things that he would like to do. “I’d love to shove my cock down your throat to stop your smart words.” She pulled her head away from his quickly but he didn’t move away, he still held her firmly against him.

“How dare…” Before she could finish her sentence, his mouth was on hers. He took that small step closer until his body was flush with hers. His tongue forced its way in, demanding control. Hermione raised her hands and placed them either side of his head, and she pushed. But she wasn’t strong enough. Again, her body betrayed her, her tongue tangled with his as if it had a life of its own. She wanted to flatten it, deny him any response other than an open mouth. 

Hermione couldn’t. Her hands slid around his head; her fingers tangled in his short blonde hair. She gripped and pulled. He didn’t react. She couldn’t bring herself to pull it from the roots, to hurt him in the hope he’d give back the mouth he’d taken prisoner. A part of her didn’t want to. It was his moan that had her finally kissing him back with the same level of equalled passion. If he wanted this then she would prove that ultimately, it was him at her mercy. 

Instead of pulling his head from hers, her hands pulled it closer. Hermione needed to gain control; she needed to turn the tables. She needed to up her game. He breathed heavily through his nose. She could feel his erection as he ground into her. She found that she was so aroused by his assault; she was sure could smell herself. Hermione had never been kissed so passionately; she’d never had her blood boil, or her heart begin to pound, by a kiss before. But then, she’d never encountered anyone with the unbridled dark passion quite like Draco Malfoy. 

Hermione had her eyes closed when his kiss changed, became a little gentler, when he pulled his head back a little until he was gently sucking on her lower lip. She opened them when he finally stopped. He didn’t smile; he didn’t smirk. Whereas before his face was emotionless, then it wasn’t. She knew his stormy grey eyes well, and Hermione could see his pupils dilated darkly with lust. She felt slightly overwhelmed by him, by the emotion that she seemed to be able to provoke without knowing how or why.

“What do you want from me?” she whispered. She was no match for him sexually.

“Everything. I want to own you and know that you’ll never fucking have it as good as me ... you’ll be left with the same scars as I have by the end of this.” He took a step back. 

Hermione watched his chest rise and fall as he regulated his breathing to get it back under control. He raised a hand and she flinched slightly, not knowing why he was being so gentle all of a sudden, it was confusing her.

He ran the back of his fingers down her cheek. “So... intense.” he said. She was hoping he was referring to her and the way she was making him feel. Or maybe she wasn’t, she didn’t know. “What turns you on, Granger?” he asked again. 

“You.” ... _fuck_ ... veritaserum was a two-faced bitch.

“Even when you don’t want to be?” he asked her with a smirk.

“Even when I don’t want to be.” She admitted through gritted teeth. 

“Will you do one thing for me?” she didn’t answer, nor nod, or shake her head. “Write down your fantasies.” He stepped away from her a little then, and she felt the heat leave her body.

“Why? Why do you need to know that?” It was a question he hadn’t asked her before. 

“Because.” 

“I think you need to leave, then.” She didn’t want him to, a part of her wanted him to pick her up and carry her to the bed, strip her of her clothing, and fuck her like he had almost done in the last forty-eight. Hours.

“I will, but only because you and I are not finished yet. Write those thoughts down for me...” Without another word, he turned and walked towards the door. She found herself counting to five, in her head, before her legs gave way, and she walked until her back hit something hard and she slid down the bed post to sit on the edge of the bed. She raised her shaking hand; her fingertips gently touching her still tingling lips, where she had just been thoroughly kissed by her tormentor.

“What the fuck are you doing to me?” she whispered, more to herself than to him.

She hadn’t noticed that he had stopped dead at her door at her words. “Talk to me,” he whispered. He still looked straight ahead, his back to her.

“I liked it when you held my arms above my head and I couldn’t move,” she replied, feeling slightly helpless in her answer, like she was giving in.

“You liked being restrained?” his voice was quiet and strained.

“Yes.” She admitted in a whisper, trying not to look at him but she could see his reflection in the mirrored walls.

“How did it make you feel?” his voice was husky ... intense.

“I…I couldn’t move, you could have done whatever you wanted.” She hated herself for this. She shouldn’t have wanted any of this. This should have brought up bile within her ... but it didn’t.

“And that turned you on? Would you do it again... with me?” 

She really, really hated herself. “I like the thought of it.” She answered, not giving him a definitive yes, but it was enough for him to know that she wouldn’t deny him if he did.

“Look at me.” he said. 

When she did, she saw him stride towards her, take her wrists and then bound them together magically. He pushed her back on to the bed, laying her down on to her front. She managed to twist her head so that her cheek was flat to the pillow. Hermione then felt the bed dip as he climbed on the end and then with his hands around her ankles, he spread her legs. He’d hardly touched her, but she was already ready to combust.

Hermione gasped as she felt his tongue run along her calf, circle behind her knee, and slowly up her thigh. It crossed her backside and back down the other. He shuffled further up the bed with his knees between her legs, keeping them apart. Hermione suddenly felt his finger trail ever so gently down between her shoulder blades. Then across her backside, drawing circles on each cheek. 

“Do you like this?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered.

His finger dipped between them, over that place that had her tense, until they slid down between her thighs. “I’m going to feel how wet you are...” he said. Hermione could only nod... wanting it, even though she knew she shouldn’t.

Too slow for her liking, he trailed his fingers over her opening, moving her lace knickers to one side and circling her clitoris. Hermione closed her eyes, absorbing the sensation. He pushed two fingers inside of her, hooking them to stroke and tease. She moaned. Her body throbbed at his touch, humming for more. 

“You want me to do whatever I want, don’t you?” he said. 

“Yes.” She was beyond more than one-word answers. She felt completely betrayed by her body and her mind, now. Both working wickedly against her as they were allowing him to seduce her so affectively.

“I’m going to fuck your arse,” he said. Hermione tensed, and then panic set in. She tried to wriggle away, he kept his fingers inside of her, stroking. He placed his other hand on her lower back holding her down. “Not now though, Granger...” he said, then chuckled. 

“Not ever,” she bristled in reply.

“Never say ‘not ever’....” He then began to slide his fingers in and out of her. He slid his free hand under her hip, finding her clitoris that throbbed as he teased it, trying to coax her into the start of an orgasm. “You know that will just provoke me...”  
Before Hermione had the chance to retort, he moved to one side of her, held her hips and roughly rolled her over on to her back. He resumed his position between her thighs. With his hands at either side of her, he lowered his head and took one of her now exposed nipples as her negligeè slipped down, rolling it between his teeth. He flicked the hardened nub with his tongue then sucked it into his mouth. 

Hermione practically arched off the bed, pushing her breast further into his mouth. He palmed the other one, roughly squeezing it until she cried out. It wasn’t a cry of pain though. Pleasure coursed through her, and she despised herself for it. And she despised herself even more for missing his hot mouth on her skin when he pulled his head away.

“So, you like being restrained, I can work with that...What else?” He kissed her stomach gently; his tongue drawing circles across her skin. 

“I liked it when I was on my knees,” Hermione told him, her words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“These aren’t fantasies, Granger...Think. Delve deep into your mind.” How could she think when his voice was purring at her and his lips were working their way across her pubic bone?

“I…” she had to pause as his tongue trailed through her small patch of pubic hair and stopped just short of where she so desperately wanted him to be. “I want…” 

“You want what?” His tone of voice was demanding. He swiped his tongue over her opening, just the once before pausing again. Hermione could feel his breath on her and it was torturous. “Challenge me, Granger. Give me your dirtiest, darkest fantasies ...let me see if I can achieve that for you...tell me, and I might let you come.” 

Her stomach lurched at his words. So, this was what it was all about? His tongue lapped at her clitoris. “I want to feel what it’s like to be with someone powerful and controlling,” she answered meekly, ashamed of the information she was giving him. Something she would never expose if she were not under the serum ...these were thoughts that she barely even admitted to herself. 

His chuckle reverberated, causing a shock wave over her clitoris; his tongue delved inside, rewarding her for saying something that had taken her by complete surprise.

His tongue was building her up to something powerful, she could feel it. He made her produce almost primal sounds from her chest and beads of sweat on her forehead from the sensations he was causing, working her up to a frenzy. He wasn’t about to let up though. He reinserted his fingers, his teeth gently clamped down against her clitoris, and his tongue flicked the sensitive nub. Hermione drew her heels towards herself now, raising her hips. She needed, wanted harder, deeper, and faster.

“More,” she suddenly said as she wiggled herself against his face and noticed the huskiness in her own voice. Three fingers then teased and stroked. Her brain was firing off electrical impulses so fast that body couldn’t keep up.

And then it escaped her lips ... left her body and she couldn’t take it back. 

“Fuck me, please,” she moaned. 

And then there was static in the air. Hermione felt herself crumble, knowing that Draco Malfoy had won. He had got her to say it, got her to give in to him completely. He had taken control of her senses in all of the most intoxicatingly sexual ways and left her craving what he had given her ... it had taken her just forty-eight hours to cave. 

In that moment, she could have cried.

“No. You give me more,” he replied brazenly, not even showing the triumph of the situation in his voice. He was too enthralled by the moment to they were in to take in the extremity of it.

More? Hermione wasn’t sure what it was that he had done to open that box in her mind, but the words tumbled out.

“I want to have sex in public.” She moaned out as his tongue continued to lap at her.

“Fuck me... you do like it dirty, don’t you...” He replied between licks.

“I want that thrill of the possibility of being caught...” he nipped at her clit and she cried out as he moaned against her, liking her answer.

With his fingers inside of her, his mouth on her clitoris, and the thoughts running through her head, Hermione keened and felt her walls starting to flutter as a strong orgasm began to creep over her. 

“Oh no you fucking don’t...” he chuckled, pulled his lips and fingers away from her and left her hanging right on the edge. Hermione left out a small wail of desperation, hating that he had got her to crumble, and still hadn’t given her what she needed. “I’m not done with you yet ... I’ve not even got you to scream for me.”

“I hate you.” She managed to grit out, meaning her words. Then she gave a yelp as she found herself being thrown back onto her stomach again, but put across Malfoy’s lap with her arse right across it and he was making he kneel whilst still restrained by her hands.

“You’re an impatient thing, aren’t you...,” he growled. 

Then there was a crack. A blow on her left cheek, and it hurt. Stung and fucking killed. “Trying to tease me with your words... you think you know what you’re doing, but you don’t.” 

He was right, she didn’t. She never had. But she was like a heat-seeking missile, and all she was searching for was release, but each time she only seemed to crash and burn. Something told her that this would be the most epic burn of all. 

Another two blows on her right arse cheek, both of them a little gentler, and then a soothing rub of his palm, which felt oddly more domineering than the spanking.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” she turned to him and asked defiantly. She was beginning to think the whole spanking thing was turning her on even more. She wasn’t sure because she’ never done it before, but she liked it. She hated herself for how he was making her feel debased and naughty. Did that make her sick? 

“No.” He laughs darkly, and she felt something light and smooth butt cheeks. 

Hermione turned her head to see him draping his old Slytherin silk tie over her flesh, dipping it down until it slipped between her slit. Oh, Lord... where the fuck had he been keeping that? 

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with you.” He said more to himself than to her as he brought the tie up in front of his face and inspected a damp spot marring the expensive silk, and then he sucked the material into his mouth and groaned.

Her pussy convulsed, muscles clenching around nothing but emptiness. Oh, God, he was so … fucking dirty. 

“I’m not going to get this tie dry-cleaned; it’s going to be my new favourite, and every now and again, I’ll smell it and think of your wet, swollen cunt.” 

She moaned; she couldn’t help it. His fingers dipped between her folds, and he played in the wetness there. “You’re dripping for me, Granger. Wet fucking through.” 

One thick finger slipped inside, a tease, nothing more, before he withdrew it. This time Hermione clenched in the agony of the frustration of it all. He hiked her up until she found herself on her knees on the bed, her hands now unbound and he was walking away from her again.

“But – I thought-“ she stuttered, not quite understanding the situation. 

Malfoy looked back at her as he reached the door; a shit-eating grin plastered to his face and his Slytherin tie wrapped tightly around his left hand like he was hanging onto it for dear life. “I’ve changed my mind...” he told her casually with a shrug. “...maybe next time, Granger... when you can admit that you want me to fuck you without the help of a bit of truth serum.” 

He bit his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes roaming her body one last time. "Don't forget to write those naughty little thoughts down for me... it'll get me off, reading them."

And then he was gone.

And Hermione was left with the notion that she had fully prepared herself for him to fuck her... and hated herself for feeling slightly let down that he hadn’t.

* * *


	4. Undoing

* * *

  
_“Much ado about nothing.”_

He’d left her a book. Not just any book... he’d left her Shakespeare. Not one of her absolute favourites, but at this point she would take anything if it meant she could relieve the boredom of staring at herself in the mirrored room, the same four walls encompassing her day after day. 

She’d not seen him for three days. Three days since he had denied her the moment to relieve her frustration ... it felt like a waiting game. Meals magically arrived at the table, and left barely eaten. She didn’t trust that he wouldn’t lace her food or drink with something more sinister than truth serum.

She had found it odd though that he hadn’t asked her anything about The Order, which lead her to believe that he really didn’t want any information from her in terms of interrogation for Lord Voldemort. Maybe he really was just keeping her here for his own sick, twisted pleasure. 

Two days ago, the little note book had arrived ...the one he wanted to write all of her little fantasies inside, like some sort of sick porn novel, designed for him to get him off.

At first, she toyed with the idea of writing about how much she loathed him ... use the pages to express how much she dislikes him and what he stood for. 

But she couldn’t do it. She didn’t know why; she just didn’t feel compelled enough to write something that would take up so much of her energy. Maybe it was because she didn’t know what he would do if she provoked him... maybe it was the thought of his hips thrusting against hers and almost throwing her headfirst into something orgasmic – until he had taken it away. 

So instead she filled the book up with dirty little fantasies that she knew when he read them, he would feel all of the frustration that she was feeling. She would have him on his knees, whether it killed her or not. And he couldn't touch her, because she could refuse.

_She would refuse..._

Hermione sat in her chair by the table, opening the book of Shakespeare that had appeared on her little dresser yesterday. She remembered opening the hard cover, and seeing spindly writing written there on the other side of the cover.

_Beatrice declared; “I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest”._

What a strange thing to quote. A strange quote to put there, at the beginning. Beatrice and Benedick... _curious_.

She had managed a few more pages as she sat there now, lost in thought when the door finally opened and in, he strolled, looking all business. Hermione didn’t want to glance up at him and give him the satisfaction of knowing that she was itching for any sort of social interaction.

But she felt compelled, and when she did look up, she saw a man on the edge. His hair was mussed, his eyes had dark circles beneath them and he seemed to be pacing, rather than looking at her. 

“Half hoped you had forgotten about me...” she told him casually, bringing him out of his thoughts. “It’s been three days... what would happen to me here if you died?” she asked him. Then laughed. “Not that I don’t wish it every day...”

He stopped and rolled his eyes at her. “You’d rot away in here and no one would be any the wiser.” He grinned evilly at her. He then changed the subject; “I’ve been away, indisposed ...”

“Doing evil deeds?” she asked him folding her arms across her chest and crossing her legs, her eyes noticing his sliding across her thigh as her green baby-doll exposed it from underneath. 

“Don’t worry...” he drawled, his eyes still on her thigh. “I keep my most evil deeds for you...”

Hermione stood up, feet from him now. Trying to get the attention from her thigh but now his eyes were everywhere, drinking her in. “Was it something to do with The Order?” she asked casually, trying to get information.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows at her, before putting his hands into his charcoal grey pants, yet again his waistcoat matching in colour. Not tie today though, and the top two buttons on his shirt were undone. He looked hauntingly attractive. Dangerously attractive. Not good ...

“Are you asking if your little friends care enough about you to come to your rescue?” he asked her mockingly. “Sorry, Granger... you’re just not that important.”

Hermione stepped up to him warningly. The smug bastard was smirking as he said it. “You obviously thought me important enough to kidnap and try to have your wicked way with me...” she said slowly, seeing lights come on behind his eyes. 

“I saw an opportunity and I took it...” he said quietly. “After all, what Death Eater wouldn’t take great pleasure in bagging, kidnapping and shagging the great Hermione Granger? ... bragging rights right there...”

She moved forwards, hand outstretched with the intent to slap him, but his hand was quicker. Instead, he drew her to him and walked them backwards quickly and forcefully until they were back at the bed. He pushed her back into the middle of it, before muttering a spell that stretched her arms out to her sides and pinned them there, leaving her helpless.

“I hate you so much ....” she spat at him. 

He sneered. “So you keep saying ...” his eyes darted round the room until they landed on the book he had told her to write in. “...but you still manage to get yourself wet for me...” 

She growled in frustration and threw her head back. No one had testes her buttons like he did. Made her swing from lust to loathing in seconds, forever keeping her on her toes. 

“Let’s see....” he mused as she opened her eyes to see him stood at the foot of the bed, flicking through the lies - _half lies_ \- she had written down as fantasies inside the pages of the book. She saw his eyes dart around the pages and darken when he found something interesting...

“Huh...” he said curiously, then looked up at her with a smirk plastered to his face. He bit his lip and let his eyes roam around her body, taking her in as she lay there almost open for him. 

A swish of his wand and she found herself without a stitch on. She gasped and called him a bastard, but he wasn’t listening.

Something he had read had caught his interest, piqued his curiosity and now the cogs were turning in his head ... he was thinking of all of the ways he could use her words against her to sexually torture her again. 

He stood at the end of the bed looking menacingly at her, seeing the way her breath was hitching at the thought of what he was about to do next. 

He let her arms free. She wasn’t expecting that.

“Stay there,” he growled. “Don’t move an inch.” 

Her breathing hitched again, and her eyes widened. She licked her lips and swallowed noticeably. She knew she should make a move and try to run from the bed, but something in his eyes stopped her.

“I…” Her gaze darted around the room, and her chest heaved. She was conflicted. She knew he was a bastard, but he wasn’t enough of one to try and control her like that when she felt slightly threatened, was he?

“ _Red._ ”

“What?” She frowned at him. 

“You want me to stop at any point, you say red. Do you understand?” he was gazing at her intently, like he wanted to consume her. “If you don’t want me to make you crash and burn, then give me the word.”

 _Oh shit ... that fantasy_... he’d picked up on that one. That one wasn’t exactly a lie, she’d wanted to try it one day, but this was not exactly how she had imagined it.

“What are you going to do?” she asked him quietly, his change of tactics leaving her off guard. She never knew when he was Dr Jakyll and when he was Mr Hyde.

“Whatever the fuck I want, Granger ... You’ve been asking for it, and now I’m going to give it to you.” He grabbed her ankle and tugged her down the bed. “So, what’s the word? Tell me it. What do you say if you want this to stop?”

“...Red.” Her voice was shaky, unsure.

“Those three letters leave your mouth and everything ceases, yes?” He was deadly serious. “I mean it... I stop.” She felt like his eyes were trying to tell her something ... burning for her dangerously but holding something within them ... he was holding something back.

She nodded slowly, searching him. “And if I don’t say it?” 

His eyes were so intense and he bit his lip. “You’ll be ruined for any other man who beds you for the rest of your life.” Hermione shuddered at his words. “If you don’t use the word, you’re going to make us both fucking burn, Granger.”

“Is that what you’re trying to do? Burn us both?” she asked him, but he answered her by pulling her ankle, getting her to sit on the edge of the bed.

He gave her a heated look that made her stomach clench. “I’ve tried really hard to show you that I can be a monster...” his demeanour started to change, his expression hardening and his body looming over her almost threateningly now. “...Now I’m going to give you a chance to prove to yourself that you _don’t_ want the darkness...you _don’t_ want the depraved shit that you know I can do to you and you _won’t_ give in and let me...”

He was still fully dressed, she was completely naked, and she knew that he liked it that way. The power differential was stark, and something let him know that she somehow needed this. She needed to feel the difference between them, to know he wouldn’t take her shit, to let someone else take control and set boundaries. She had an out, though. If it all got too much, she only had to say those three little letters. One syllable. Then it all stopped. 

“You’ve taken this too far, haven’t you?” she asked him as he stroked small circles on each of her knees as he looked at her. “You were supposed to just fuck me and abuse me ... you weren’t supposed to play...”

Malfoy sneered at her and dropped to his knees in a fluid movement, taking hold of both her ankles this time, and pulled her until her pussy was right at the edge of the bed.

“Oh, I was supposed to play Granger ...” He hooked her legs over his shoulders and she watched him stare at her like she was a slice of heaven that he was about to taste. “You just weren’t supposed to play along too...” He parted her plump, slick lips with his fingers and simply looked at her. 

Hermione made an odd sound. “And now you don’t just want to fuck me ...” A small, strangled moan left her lips. “... you don’t just want to destroy me ....” She felt her clit pulse, with nothing but his gaze caressing it. “You want to own me... possess my body and have me all to yourself...” 

She heard him hiss, clearly feeling the effects of her words. Christ... she didn’t realise how much she needed this. She needed a release and some attention about as much as he need to taste her and own her and give that release to her.

“You need to say the word, Granger ...” he whispered to her, “Say it before you’re begging me to tip you over the edge...” 

When he leaned in and almost took a taste, she found that he was the one moaning. “Stop it for both of us... say it....”

Hermione let out a breath. No longer caring who he was or who she was or what they meant to each other. She was intoxicated fully by the moment, and the idea of bringing this man to his knees with her sexuality.

“No.”

He didn’t tease her like before. He didn’t flick his tongue or gently lick. He devoured her. He sucked her lips into his mouth and laved her with his tongue. He ran it all over her slit and lavished her clit with it. 

“Oh.... god...” curling her toes, she didn’t get a moment to catch her breath, because it was an all-out assault.

“Say it and make me stop, Granger...” his breath sent shudders down her spine as it breezed against her cunt. How could she stop now? She had already sinned ... might as well make it worth her while. 

“Can’t ... need this...” she bit out, clenching her jaw and arching her back to press herself further into his mouth. 

She heard him growl possessively. “End this for us both ....” she heard him rumble. “...end this torture...” His mouth started to pull her apart deliciously.

It didn’t take long before she was panting and writhing and pulling at his hair one moment, pushing his head away the next, only to pull him back in again, like she didn’t know how much pressure she could take from his mouth.

“Say it.”

“I can’t...” she keened.

“You’re killing me...”

She knew that her hold on his hair would be enough to sting. She was reacting far wilder than she had expected to from the pressure of his mouth. Deep down, she thought he would have to coax it out of her, make her want it ... but he brought the darkness out of her far too easily.

“Keep going ... please ...” she panted out, gripping his head now with her thighs.

“Say the word ...make me stop this ...” he answered her, his tongue flicking her clit hungrily and she continued to arch herself up and buck her hips until he slipped two fingers inside of her, coaxing her walls to tighten around him in slow, determined movements. “Fight it, Granger...”

“I need ... I need...” something, anything, everything. “You’ve had me too frustrated ...” she bit her lip and clenched her eyes shut. “...Please...” 

Hermione was moaning now, and her legs were thrashing, and then she threw her head back and pushed herself against him as her walls started to flutter around his fingers, alerting him to her approaching orgasm.

“Oh my God.” She was panting. “So close...” 

“What’s the word?” another lick.

“I need to – please, let me-“ she bucked her hips.

“Granger...” his tongue was tormenting her.

She grabbed a fist full of his hair, and felt her walls start to clench his fingers tightly. “Malfoy please – just let me-“ 

And yet again, he pulled away and made her groan in frustration and anger. She had been so close, a few more seconds and she would have drowned in the feeling of her body spasming in ecstasy. 

“I didn’t say the word...” she whimpered, not being sure if she could take any more of his refusal to give her an orgasm. He had been right from the beginning; he really did want to destroy her. 

“We’re not done yet...” he told her; his voice thick with an emotion that Hermione had never heard in him before. 

“You need to do something...” she moaned as he started kissing his way up her stomach, but her words made him pause. “It almost hurts...” she knew that he knew what she meant. “...I need it... please...” 

She was fully aware that she was pleading, but she didn’t care. Her body felt almost sore with the need to fall over the edge. She needed it... she’d been denied it for days and now it was almost painful.

“What are you doing to me...” He moaned, putting his forehead into her stomach and shaking his head with frustration. She scowled and pouted at the same time, hating that it was now that he chose to find some sort of Resilience. “...wasn’t supposed to happen like this...” 

“What?” she frowned.

He looked up at her seriously, before climbing up her body slowly and putting their foreheads together. “You weren’t supposed to play the same game...” 

“Why do you want me to say the word so badly?” she asked him in almost a whisper. “I’m the one hurting with the frustration of it all, not you.” 

Before she could blink, he had her up off of the bed, an arm around her waist and he was walking her from the bed and to the right side of the room, standing her in front of the mirrored wall and standing behind her. His body was pressed right up against her, his hips grinding onto her arse as one hand held her around the waist and another cupped her chin, making her look at the pair of them reflected in the mirror. 

He was flushed. He was aroused and his emotions seemed to be taking over him gradually, his mask slipping away and she could see the need he had for her. It was pouring out of him... what had she done to him?

“You have no idea what frustration feels like, Granger...” he told her in a dangerously low voice. He was looking her dead in the eye in the mirror and she went to break the contact. “Don’t you dare.” He warned her. “You’ll look at me while I tell you this ... make you feel this ...”

Hermione kept her eyes on his as Malfoy grabbed her hand and put his on top of hers. He slowly brought their hands around, sliding them down the inside of her thigh and reaching her core.

“Frustration is having an itch you can’t scratch...” He used his fingers to spread hers out until he found her index finger, pressing it lightly against her clit and she moaned slightly. “...frustration is wanting something that you can’t have...” He used his fingers to press hers harder into her clit, making her form small circles.

“Oh god...” she groaned, her head falling back on his shoulder at the sensations. But she kept her eyes on him. 

“Frustration is yearning to have something for so long, but knowing it’s out of your grasp and that you’ll never have it...” his voice was low and husky. He was making her fingers work faster over herself making her pant and shake. 

"I want you to give me your safe word because I have to remember that you don't want this ... I need to remember that you don't really want it..."

Hermione shifted her legs slightly apart as she stood, moving her hips to try and coax his fingers into touching her where she needed it, instead of her own fingers.

“Jesus... I can feel how wet you are... your fingers are coated...” The slippery warmth of her was so much more than proof of how much she wanted him right now ... why wouldn’t he take her? “Granger... tell me to stop.” 

Something snapped inside of her. “No, don’t stop...I do really want it.” She slowly began to work her fingers in time with his around her clit and rocked back and forth against his hand while rubbing her arse against his crotch.

His groan echoed around the room, and her fingers rubbed her clit with his aide, slow and steady. Malfoy’s other hand reached around to massage her breast, and there are about fifty other things she wanted this man to do to her in this moment... but right now, she just needed to come fast and hard.

“You can’t get yourself off, Granger...” he said into her neck as he licked at her earlobe. “Your fingers might get you to the edge, but you won’t throw yourself off... and that is frustration...”

She moaned low in her throat at his words, knowing she was already right there on the edge. She knew that no matter how hard she pushed herself, she would never go over without his touch... his touch would take all the pain away ... his touch would give her the pleasure.

Keeping his eyes on her in the mirror, he whispered into her ear. “Do you want to come for me right now, Granger?”

She bit her lip and nodded. “Yes.” He was making her slow down to an almost torturous pace.

“This is who you really are? This is what you want? No safe words? No pretending you don’t want this? No pretending you don’t want me to give this to you?” His words were making her come undone, because in the heat of the moment that is exactly what she wanted ... she needed him to do this to her. 

“Yes...” She hissed.

“You had better scream for me...” he purred in her ear and made her hand work faster over herself before crooking her fingers and getting her to push two inside of herself.

“Oh... oh, god...” She moaned and she clenched around them. She felt herself so hot and wet and tight. 

“How do you feel, Granger?” he asked huskily, still moving her hand with his. His eyes were like broken shards of glass. He was gone ... totally lost in the thrall of their actions.

Hermione reached behind herself to grab on to his hair and whimpered while he fucked her with her own fingers. He suddenly bit down on the fleshy part of her shoulder—not hard, but she liked it. 

“Oh shit,” she sighed, and started to undulate and moan. Malfoy let go of her breast and grabbed hold of her chin again, burying his head in her curls whilst still watching her. “I feel wet... I feel like I need-“

He rubbed her hard with her own fingers, so fast against her clit to make her buck and swear. She felt like she was going to scream his name, all the while her eyes never moving from his and it was the most intense moment of her life. 

“Are you going to come for me, Granger?” he asked her in a rough voice, his hips moving against her arse so his erection pressed in-between her buttocks. “Are you going to give in and tell me you want me to take you over the edge... scream my name into the palm of my hand?” 

Her body was convulsing at the thought. She was right there... she just needed him to touch her and she would crumble. Spiral into the abyss. “...please, Malfoy...” 

He looked her dead in the eye in the mirror, his breathing laboured. “Say it...” he told her menacingly. “You have one more chance before I own you, Granger ... one more chance to give me the word before you fall...” 

His fingers worked hers furiously. She was a panting mess and honestly didn’t think she could stand the thought of being left without release again. The frustration would eat her alive. She needed this ... she wanted this... in this moment, she wanted him.

“...then catch me...” 

She heard him moan low in his throat, before he rocked his hips into her arse again and as she saw his eyes glint menacingly at her. He grabbed her throat and pulled her flush against him, and she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. She felt her fingers being worked inside and outside of her, the sensation was delicious ... and then there was movement. It was the slightest of touches. His middle finger swiping against her clit. 

“You’re mine...” 

She crashed. “Oh god – fuck- oh, Malfoy-“ his mouth smothered hers as her head snapped to the side and he swallowed her cries as her walls clenched around her fingers as she came. His middle finger kept swiping across her clit as she rode her orgasm, her body convulsing and shivering against him as the hand at her throat went to her curls and he pulled at them as he deepened the kiss. 

Malfoy didn’t stop until she clenched up on her fingers one final time, and he didn’t make her pull her hand away until the aftershocks had subsided and she collapsed against his chest. His breathing matched hers.

“You look good like that...” he whispered in her ear. “All flushed and satisfied...” 

Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated on calming her heartbeat. Now that the flames had been fanned, she could hear the thoughts of betrayal and regret beginning to enter her mind. And the thought that Draco Malfoy had broken her, and she had let him. 

“I shouldn’t have-“

“But you didn’t use your safe word...” he interrupted her, like he knew exactly what she was going to say. “I told you I’d stop if you used it ... and you refused...”

Hermione saw the devilish smirk reflected in the mirror. He knew she had wanted it more than she had wanted to say no ... 

Draco Malfoy knew he owned her.

Hermione Granger was fucked.

“I’m going away again at first light.” He told her as he nipped at her shoulder. “While I’m gone, you’re free to roam the flat...”

Hermione’s eyes widened as she looked at him through the mirror, still being attentive to the flesh of her shoulder. 

“I wouldn’t want you worrying about me dying and leaving you to fester away in your room now, would I?” 

Hermione looked at him. “I wouldn’t worry...” 

He looked back at her. “I beg to differ...”

She really fucking hated him.

* * *


	5. Digging

* * *

There were so many windows. Tall, arched windows that made the Georgian architecture of Malfoy’s flat look antiquated and mature. Decorated and littered all around in matching Georgian furnishings that complimented the feel of the space ... it was very Malfoy, but it wasn’t. 

Hermione was expecting greens and silvers and every other Slytherin connotation under the sun when she finally took a deep breath and decided to step outside of her own little room. Hardly believing that he had actually kept the door unlocked, her breath hitched when her door opened and she was met with all manner of emotions. 

He actually trusted her enough to let her roam around his flat? She actually trusted him enough to believe that this wasn’t some sort of trap? She still didn’t know ... she just knew that when she was walking down the empty corridor and towards the open space of a Living room, it was the first part of normal she had felt in what felt like a long time.

Why had he done it, though? Now there was a question. Why let her roam around his flat freely? She was supposed to be captive ... surely, he knew she would take the opportunity to free herself by any means necessary? 

And she did. She tried every door that would open, looking for a fireplace that could floo her ... nothing. Every window in the place was rattled... no use. He had his wards up and there was no getting in or out. So now she had to just... wait.

Entertain herself until Malfoy came back and she could entertain her boredom by picking a fight with him, goad him and bate him into arguing with her.

_Or something else ..._

All she did was think about it. Think about it, rationalise it, think practically about it ... and then relive the moment he made her walls clench, over and over. He gave her what she wanted. She never said no and, in the moment, she did want it ... but only because he had drove her out of her mind with frustration that had been unreleased in the first place. 

_It shouldn’t have felt so good, though.._.

It felt wrong and naughty and she did hate herself afterwards, she really did. But a small part of her – the teenager that had always thought he was a dick, but he wasn’t bad looking – was ever so slightly giddy at the thought that Draco Malfoy had made her come. Really hard. 

He didn’t, though. She knew he needed it, probably more than she did. She knew he wanted to, but he was so possessive about holding himself back ... like he wanted to touch her, but he didn’t want the feeling of it to affect him. Always in the background ... like he was waiting to strike when she was at her most vulnerable. But he didn’t want her vulnerability to attach to him.

That had been two days ago, and once he walked out of her room while she went to get a shower, she hadn’t seen him since. She didn’t know if she would ever see him again, considering he was off on some Death Eating mission, probably killing all of her friends whilst she was stuck in his little flat, unable to help them.

It took Hermione approximately five minutes into her exploration of his flat on the first day to find his little Library. Behind an oak door, and the room smelled of parchment and spearmint, like him.

Her heart soared and her spirit lifted as she had stepped into the room, looking at the walls that were full on either side of the room, shelves filled with books. A small oak table sat in the middle, ink pots and blank parchment spread around it. 

Very un-like Malfoy. A complete contrast to the dark cavern she thought he would occupy. And she drew in a deep breath of astonishment when her eyes met the large, Georgian arched window that took up the end of the room, making the light shine through brilliantly. This had to be the best room in the flat. 

Out of the window, Hermione took in the most beautiful piece of architecture she had ever laid eyes on, and she had been to Hogwarts. Her mind got to work as she suddenly recognised what she was looking at, and suddenly her whereabouts clicked into place. 

She was looking at the beautiful view of The Pulteney Bridge, which sat on the River Avon. It was a well-known, historic structure in the City of Bath in Somerset, England.

Draco Malfoy lived in Bath. The quiet, antiquated City of Bath ... somewhere not renowned for Wizards – especially Death Eaters who needed to stay close to Voldemort in London- to occupy, due to the City being shrouded in Muggle History dating back to the Roman times. 

The man was a mystery. A puzzle that she felt she needed to solve, but didn’t know if she wanted to. God ... the webs around her just seemed to be tangling tighter.

Hermione had indulged herself within the Library over the two days of Malfoy’s absence, also finding the kitchen stocked full of food and all but one of the many doors of the flat open for her. She did ponder on the one locked door, wondering if she could force entry, but then she found Malfoy’s room, and dropped the thought entirely. 

Again, it was so unlike him. The room was neutral colours, with a large Georgian four-poster bed in the middle. Another large window looking out on the River Avon, but the light didn’t quite shine in here in the way that it did in the Library. 

She felt like she was trespassing when she saw his pictures. Moving and waving inside the frames. Ones of him with his parents; a small blonde-haired boy being held tightly by a smiling Lucius Malfoy, his mother had her arms around them both, smiling lovingly. 

Pictures of him with his friends scattered around the walls and furniture within the room. Smiling and laughing with each other ... candid. Hermione recognised Theodore Nott and Blaise ... and one of all three of them with Pansy, too. 

She didn’t know this Draco Malfoy. She didn’t know his smile or his laugh or the happy glint in his eyes. She only saw his sneer and his scowl and the pain in his eyes. 

He was human. It had taken her looking at his pictures and seeing a part of his world that she knew nothing about to realise that. And yet ... she would never be a part of it.

Never wanted to be. His world now was dark and dangerous and when this was all over and The Order won, he would end up in Azkaban just like the rest of them. 

Hermione had to keep reminding herself of that as she sat in the Library, pouring over his mixture of Wizarding World and Muggle books ... finding that many of his Literary tastes matched her own. 

The thought sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

* * *

She knew when Malfoy had arrived home, another day later. She had been in the Library, sitting at the table with a copy of ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’ when she heard the unmistakeable sound of the Floo network opening and closing again from the Living room.

He didn’t shout for her, and she didn’t hear him looking inside any of the rooms of the flat ... he knew exactly where she would be, and he left her to it. She heard the tell-tale signs of him walking to his bedroom and then the door clicked closed.

She let out a breath she didn’t even know she had been holding. Her skin prickled at the thought of him being back ... being around her. She didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. She spent another ten minutes with her book before realising that she wasn’t actually taking in the words anymore, and shut the book. 

The corridor was empty as she walked down it towards the Living Room, until a door to her right opened and then there he was ... in nothing but a pair of black Chino’s. She felt her mouth go dry at the sight of him, and then berated herself instantly for the images that flashed through her mind of him grabbing her whilst shirtless and kissing her roughly. 

Instead, he stood there towel drying his hair, and it was sticking up messily ... which made him look even more tempting. Now she really did hate herself. Because after glancing at his hair, she let her eyes travel down over the expanse of his broad shoulders and chest... over the golden patch of hair between his pecs and then a hint of abs that lead to a happy trail that dipped below...

_Oh, god_ ...

“See something you like, Granger?” he said in a low voice, mocking her. 

She wasn’t the only one observing, of course. His eyes had been taking her in hungrily since his door had opened. Looking her up and down as she wore a white satin and lace slip dress, slits down either side and a pair of white French knickers. Her golden-brown curls were in ringlets and fell down her back and shoulders, giving her an innocent look ... and he was devouring it. 

“You took your time.” She told him, ignoring his question with a slight blush on her cheeks and folded her arms. “Your Dark Lord not happy with your current performance?” 

He looked at her with stony eyes then, his facial expression changing. He said nothing at first, just turned and walked towards the Living room, before turning off to the kitchen instead. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to, love.” He answered her threateningly.

Hermione followed him, not entirely satisfied with his answer. “The least you could do is tell me-“

“I’m telling you nothing, Granger.” He told her loudly as he made himself a glass of Fire whiskey in a bit of a temper. She could see the defensive change in him, the way his back tensed and she saw the muscles contracting beneath his alabaster skin. “Remember your place.” 

“My place?” she asked angrily, suddenly feeling furious. “ _My_ place? _My_ place will never be here, with you... _my_ place is above you, Malfoy ... you’re beneath me and always will be.”

He turned around and looked at her menacingly. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” he asked, bringing the whiskey glass to his lips. “You’d like to think that you’re somehow superior? Wouldn’t you? That you’re better than me because you’re fighting for what you believe in...” 

“I am better." She told him defiantly, and he stepped in closer to her. “And when we win, and you’re in Azkaban ... you’ll see that you were right, and I am superior. Your blood can’t change what you are, Malfoy ... just like mine can’t change me. When this is all over, blood status will be irrelevant...” 

She heard him make a little noise like a growl in his throat. “Do you think this is about blood, Granger?” he took another sip of his drink. “You think I’ve got you here because your blood is inferior to mine...?” he stepped closer to her yet again. “How wrong you are...”

“Then why am I here?” She asked, seeing something unfamiliar flash in his eyes. “Why do you want to torture me like this and trap me here with you?” 

He shook his head. “Because you are a threat, Granger ... you’re dangerous to the Dark Lord... your mind is a weapon...” then he looked her up and down again. “... and I’ll be honest, the thought of knowing you are in my flat, wearing lace knickers and sitting in _my_ Library and reading _my_ books gives me something to think about while I’m out there killing your friends...” 

She glared at him. “You’re a pig.”

“But you’re the one who likes to roll around in the dirt ...” he finished, smirking at her. “I think you like the thought of being held against your will ... I think you get off on it.”

“You are disgusting at times; do you know that? Trying to get a reaction out of me.” She felt him come closer to her yet again, stepping into her as she stood rooted to the spot. “You are immoral and I loathe-“

“I’m everything you say I am and more, Granger...” he told her in a low voice, looking down at her. “...but you still can’t help yourself...” his eyes danced with passionate emotions. “... You can’t help that you always have to try and see the good in people... even when there is none...” 

She swallowed, wondering how he knew that about her. “There is none in you, Malfoy...” she told him spitefully. “There might have been once, but not now” 

He gave her an intense look. “That would make this easier for you, wouldn’t it? Thinking there is a part of me buried down deep that wants to do the right thing?” his chest was almost touching hers now. “That you can bring forth my inner redemptionist and save me from my wicked ways? ... the bad boy turned good?” 

She looked away, blushing. That wasn’t her thought process, but she had always thought there was something deep inside of him that could bring forth some good. But now he was denying her the little part of her that wanted to see him as a man who could possibly change, with the right guidance.

“You can never be good... not now.” She answered in a small voice. 

“And yet... here you are...still pushing me...” his voice was tense and she looked up at him. She hadn’t done or said anything that could make him think that.

“I’m not-“ she started.

“You are...” he whispered, his free hand going to her right arm with a feathery touch. “You don’t always do it with your mind, Granger ... it’s your body language...” 

She hitched a breath. She shouldn’t be thinking this after what he had said to her, but she couldn’t help it ... he was too intoxicating and he got her all worked up.

“Your mouth might tell me that you hate me ... but your body ...” he grazed his eyes over her possessively, his hand going higher, brushing against the fabric of her slip. “...your body tells me a whole different story...” 

  
She wasn’t sure how her legs were keeping her body upright, the look in his eyes made her body melt. Her legs were visibly shaking. She tried desperately to measure her breaths, but when he reached for the thin strap of her negligée, her heart raced faster.

“Are you nervous?” he asked.

“No” she answered too quickly. But then she swallowed and he looked at her knowingly. “Yes. I…I can’t say I really make a habit of allowing someone I loathe entirely to seduce me....”

“Good. I like nervous.” He closed the gap small between them, using his hand to lift her chin until she was looking up at him. He leaned down slightly, and she closed her eyes, wetting her lips. 

She expected to feel his on hers but he gently ghosted them across her jaw, tilting her head to give him access to her neck. The feel of his lips on her skin, his breath as it tickled, had all but caused her legs to give way. 

Hermione reached up and gripped his sides, simply to steady herself. She felt his lips curl into a smile; he was pleased with her response. “Your body always gives you away...”

He placed small kisses down her neck, pulling the strap of her negligée down further, letting it hang loose at her arm. Then he trailed his tongue back up to her jaw. She groaned, trying hard to keep the sound in.

He stepped away and that action caused her to open her eyes quickly. “I’m enjoying the taste of you,” he said. Hermione couldn’t find the words to answer that. Yet again, she was taken aback. “Take the other strap off of your shoulder,” he said.

Hermione raised her hand, trying hard to disguise the shaking, and started to pull the silk strap down off her shoulder. How the fuck did he always do this to her? His voice was like a trigger, making her submit, always against her better judgement.

“Slower,” he told her, viewing her with darkened eyes.

She kept eye contact as she did what he had requested. When she had pulled the strap down, she let her arms fall to her sides. She watched as he placed the Whiskey glass on the kitchen counter top.

He trailed his fingers down either side of her neck, across her chest, and over the top of the mounds of her breasts, loosely covered by the silk fabric. Hermione watched him lick his lips as he stared at them. There was something very carnal in what he did, and it had her stomach clenching further.

He pushed the rest of the fabric from her arms until it fell to the floor in a puddle around her. Goosebumps raised on her skin, following the path his fingers made as he very gently ran them across the sides of her breasts. Everything he did, every movement he made, was controlled: measured to elicit the desired response. She swallowed hard, convinced that he had heard her.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak; the silence was beginning to overwhelm her. Before she could, he placed one finger over her lips. “Shush,” he said. “No talking, just feel.” He reached for his whiskey again and dipped his finger in the glass; he then ran that finger over her lips. 

Before she had the chance to catch the drip, he had placed his hands into her hair on either side of her face and kissed her. No, he devoured her mouth. It was as if his kiss had sucked the air from her lungs. His tongue took control of hers, his hands gripping her hair. She clung to him; her hands fisted and pressed against his hard chest. She couldn’t stop the moan that seemed to have risen from the depths of her stomach, leaving her mouth. 

Hermione was gone, completely gone. Her head spun and it wasn’t from the warmth of the room, it was him. Just his kiss had her wanting to come. She crossed her legs, trying to clench her thighs tight together. 

He let go of one side of her head, ran his hand down her side, and having to bend slightly, he slipped his hand between her thighs and pushed her legs apart. He pulled his mouth from hers. “When you come, it will be either over my fingers or my cock, or in my mouth.”

Her jaw fell open; she heard it click. He smirked and raised his eyebrows at her. He reached down, undoing the button, then the zip of his trousers, then reached up and pulled down the straps of her white slip until it pooled around her feet. She stepped out of it, and once again, he took a step back. His gaze leisurely trailed from her naked breasts to her white, lace knickers and then down her olive-skinned thighs.

“One of us had too many clothes on,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“That would still be you, Granger...” he replied, glancing down at her lace knickers.

She blushed.

“Leave them on,” he said, and Hermione really wanted to let her hands slide down his toned stomach, touch his abs. He pushed his unbuttoned trousers down slightly to hang on the edge of his hips. She decided to be brave and placed her hands on his hips and slowly lowered to a crouch, pulling his trousers down as she did. 

He wore tight black boxer shorts, and she had to catch the words before they spilled from her mouth at the sight of his erection, which she had never seen before but only felt. His cock strained against the cotton; a small damp patch had formed as it wept pre-cum. One more secondary glance and she stood up again in front of him.

“Turn around,” he said.

“Why?” 

“Turn around,” he repeated, slower. She did. She heard the shuffle as he kicked his trousers away, then felt the gentlest trail of his fingers down her back, and again, her skin puckered at his touch. He grabbed her hair in one hand, angling her head so he could kiss across her shoulder, pushing her head forward so he could kiss the back of her neck. Hermione reached behind her, placing her hands on his thighs for sudden needed support.

He pressed his body against hers, or maybe she had leaned back into him, by that point she wasn’t even sure. She could feel his cock pressing into her lower back. He loomed over the back of her, he was a good foot taller than she was. One arm snaked around her, his hand covered her breast and he dragged his palm across her nipple. The roughness of his skin set hers on fire, figuratively of course.

Heat raced over her. She had begun to pant, finding it difficult to disguise her laboured breathing. She could feel the wetness between her thighs, and she wanted his fingers, his cock, or his mouth. She hated that her body craved him ... she hadn’t even had him properly and she wanted him all the more for it.

“Do you like these?” he asked, as he slid his hand down her stomach to the top of her knickers.

“Yes.” 

“Shame.” With that, he ran his fingers around the waistband to her hip, and in one fluid movement, he’d ripped them from her body. The movement caught her by surprise, and she stumbled sideways slightly. He held her hips. When she had steadied herself, she felt his hand run over her arse, slide between her thighs and over her opening, just once. He gently slid his hand back again. She tensed as he ran his wet finger between her arse cheeks. She heard him chuckle. “You’re so wet,” he said.

“I…” Again, she was unsure of how to reply.

“Tell me your fantasies, Granger... If you could do anything right now, what would it be?” he whispered in her ear. 

“I…”

“You said that already.” He slid his hand around her waist, lower and lower. His other hand reached around and cupped her chin; he forced her head up to look at him while his fingers circled her clitoris.

She moaned out loud and closed her eyes. “Open them, look at me,” he said. His voice had taken on a huskiness. “Answer me.” 

“I don’t know, I can’t think,” She told him as his fingers stroked and teased her clitoris faster. “You’re not giving me time to-“ She gripped his thighs and moaned again. 

“Think.” He said harshly.

“To be fucked by you, a stranger,” she finally said, crying out at the same time. 

“I like your choice of words, Hermione. I love to fuck, hard.” Her first name rolled slowly off his tongue and seduced her. His words had her moaning out loud, had her stomach clenching with the need to come, had a flush creep up her chest and neck, and her nipples were so hard that they hurt.

“Oh, God,” she cried out. He chuckled.

Hermione wanted to come; she wanted to feel his fingers inside her. She let go of one of his thighs and covered his hand with hers; she pushed his fingers lower towards her opening. He pulled it away. 

She let her head fall forward and her chin came to rest on her chest. Before she had even caught a breath, he lifted her from the ground and carried her over his shoulder and along the corridor, until they were back in her room. He threw her on to her little four-poster single-bed.

He laid her down “I don’t fuck in single beds, normally. But for you, I find myself wanting to make an exception.” He stood beside the bed and removed his shorts. His cock sprang free. She tried not to, but she couldn’t stop staring. He was something else... he was masculinity.

He crawled onto the bottom of the bed. He ran his hands down her legs, feeling their smoothness. Then he crawled up her body, holding himself above her on his arms. He lowered his head, and kissed down her chest before taking a nipple into his mouth. 

Hermione gripped his hair as he sucked, as he bit. She arched her back off the bed, feeling his cock against her. He released her nipple to tend to the other one. She had never before experienced the stomach clenching and thigh trembling that she was at that point, using just his mouth, his tongue, and his teeth. 

Her skin was chilled from his still damp skin from when he lowered himself, kissing down her stomach. She released her grip on his hair when his tongue found her clitoris. She didn’t have time to prepare. When he forced his tongue inside her, she almost came. It took her by surprise and she screamed out. 

He held his hands over her hips, forcing her to keep still when all she wanted to do was arch her back. Hermione covered his hands with hers and clawed at his wrists. Sweat beaded on her upper lip as wave after wave of heat, of static, ran over her. She could feel her wetness seeping from her, rolling down towards her arse. 

He lapped and sucked, he moaned and the vibrations caught her clitoris, sending more shockwaves through her. His fingers dug into her skin, painfully, yet they only heightened every sensation that was causing her nerve endings to fire off electrical impulses.

She had found out that day, that it wasn’t a myth. Light, stars, whatever the fuck they were, flickered behind her closed eyelids. She couldn’t catch her breath, her heart pounded inside her chest so much she could hear the rush of blood as it passed her ears to feed her brain. 

It was as he moved away that she finally opened her eyes. His chin glistened and he licked his lips. He kept his focus on her as he crawled back up her body. 

“Lick,” he said, bringing his chin close to her mouth. She brazenly cupped her hands around his face and licked every single drop of her juices from him. Her tongue felt grazed by the stubble covering his chin. She found that she quite liked the roughness of it... she quite liked the roughness of him... 

He positioned himself over her, and taking one hand of hers at a time, he raised them above her head. He held both wrists in one of his hands. With his other, he slid it down her thigh and under her knee, raising it; she instinctively wrapped that leg around his waist.

Before she had a chance to do the same with her other leg, he pushed inside if her. She closed her eyes and cried out as her muscles, which hadn’t been stretched that much in what felt like forever, burned. This was it ... this was the moment that Draco Malfoy finally took her ... owned her. The noises he was making told her that he hadn’t prepared himself ... his loud groan was like an admittal of defeat.

He stilled, waiting for her to relax. When she opened her eyes to look at him, his stare bore straight through her. He moved, slowly at first, grinding his pelvis against hers, rotating his hips slightly, causing a sensation inside her that she’d never experienced before. She tightened her legs around his waist and tilted her hips. She wanted him deeper. 

He moaned and she watched him bite his lip. “You’re tighter than I thought you would be...” he breathed out; his eyes glassy as he looked into hers. “Fuck, Granger ... I can’t control ...” 

He growled and upped his pace suddenly, pounding into her so hard and so fast, her body jolted up the bed. Her overly sensitive skin prickled as something delicious started to build. She moaned out loud until she heard herself scream at the intensity of his thrusts... he was fucking her to within an inch of her life. Her stomach muscles tightened, her body shook, but still he kept going, making her reach almost dizzying heights.

“Oh, God ....” 

“Talk to me...” he rasped out between thrusts. “Tell me how much you don’t want this...”

She shook her head. “Don’t play these games.” She moaned, clenching her fists. “You always want to play these games ...” she bucked up against him.

He seemed to understand her silent pleas, because his fingers dug into her hips, causing another moan. The softness he held in his eyes disappeared like a shadow in the night. The glimpse of the boy he once was disappears under the sinister features of the man he is now, proving it’s an illusion. 

“I play these games because if I don’t, I’ll end up doing something we’ll both regret.” He snarled as he continued at his maddening pace, his hips bouncing off of hers, his face so close ... his lips so close...

“Do you want me to tell you how much I don’t want this?” she panted, her hips meeting his. She was trying to change tactics. “Do you need that? Will it make you feel better knowing how repulsed I am by you?” her lips and teeth latched onto his shoulder, causing him to groan loudly. 

He lifted her hips and growled into her ear, liking her teeth on him. Something seemed to snap inside of him, like any control that he had left had splintered away. And then he was making her cry out as he withdrew and then entered her in one harsh movement. Pain and pleasure started to take over her as he pumped harder, her nails dragging down his back, making him hiss as she tried to hold on to the feeling. As if he was her gravity, the feeling only he can bring out of her came alive, burning through her.

“Tell me how much you hate me ... how much you fucking despise me.” He said low in her ear in a husky voice, continuing his assault. It was like he was searching for a punishment to balance out his pleasure. Like he needed to feel the intensity of any negative emotions she had towards him while he fucked her. 

As if the flames of hell themselves were burning inside him, the lick of his tongue on her neck connected to every fibre, igniting sparks, and the fire grew into an inferno. 

“I hate that you do this to me.” She rattled out as his thrusts became almost painful. ‘I hate that you use my body like this.” She heard him growl again and his eyes were on fire. “I hate that you make me wet, and I hate that the thought of you doing all of these things gets me off...”

As they looked into each other’s eyes, hips going maddeningly thrust for thrust, back was the tidal wave of hurt, desperation, fear and desire, crashing over them both with each movement of their joined bodies. Her eyes fluttered over him to see every muscle bunched tight, sweat glistening on his skin, the tendons in his neck taut, his head chucked back, pure, raw desire covering his features. 

A deep groan escaped his swollen lips. As if he could sense her gaze, his head fell forward. He watched her through heavy lids as his forehead rested against hers, and the sight caught her breath.

“Will you come for me?” he asked her in a whisper, his hips still keeping up his maddening pace and his hands still holding her wrists above her head. “Do you hate me enough to let me force your walls to flutter around my cock?” his breathing was ragged. “Will you let me own that part of you, Granger?” 

She couldn’t breathe. The sensations had been building and she was ready to be thrown over the edge. She was panting and her legs were wrapping around his waist, holding him tight to her and she looked into his eyes. “You don’t own me... but I want to come for you...” she answered, thrusting her hips up towards him and felt him hit that sweet spot right where she needed it. “Oh, fuck ...” 

“That’s it...” he growled out. “Let me be the one, Granger...” the position of her legs around his waist opened her up further, and he sank into her, letting her feel even more or him and the angle he kept hitting her at. “...let me give you this... only this...” 

“Yes...” she threw her head back into the pillow ... she was reaching... her toes were curling. 

“You shouldn’t want this.” He babbled as he continued with sharp thrusts against her clit and G-spot. “We shouldn’t want this ... it’s wrong...” he was manic now. “Gone too far...” he mumbled. “Tell me it’s wrong, Granger... tell me you hate me...”

She clenched her eyes shut and oh ... she felt the fire burning in the pit of her stomach and her legs began to tremble. “I hate you so much...” she croaked out. “It’s wrong... it burns, but ... “

“Let go,” he spoke in a strangled whisper, feeling her walls flutter and clench around him before he leaned down and bit her shoulder, enough that his teeth broke the skin and she felt a trickle of blood escape. 

“Fuck... Malfoy – oh!”

The pain mixed with dark desire caused her to scream, mumble words that made no sense as stars danced in front of her. Her body floated to a place that was no longer here nor there, a place where nothing existed. Pure ecstasy filled her veins, pulling another moan from her lips, until their ragged breathing was the lone sound that filled the room. 

Her wrists hurt from being pinned to the bed, and her head spun. She felt dizzy as she lost control. He fucked her through the most intense orgasm of her life. He slowed his pace while he watched her come down. Sweat glistened on his chest and on his shoulders.

She wanted to run her tongue up his stomach, inhaling his scent. Before her brain had registered, he had pulled out of her, not taking the initiative to carry on and finish himself inside of her in that position. He had asked her to tell him that she hated him ... like he got off on the pain and spite of her words. Draco Malfoy was a masochist.

“On your knees,” he said, resting back on his heels. She struggled to sit; so, he flipped her over using her hips. He pulled at them until her arse was in the air in front of him, and she propped herself on to her elbows on her pillow.

He entered her again. Her hands gripped the bedding. She lost track of time, she lost count of how many times he thrust in and out of her. With his cock pounding inside her, he reached under and teased her swollen clitoris. She wanted to sink into the bed, and every time her legs shook too much to hold her up, he held her hips, physically lifting and holding her in position.

He had her in this position so that she couldn’t see his face, but she turned her head to the mirrored walls and oh ... she wished she hadn’t. Malfoy was a beautifully tormented soul. His face held a thousand different emotions, and his eyes held even more. He wanted this ... he wanted her ... but he hated her ... hated himself. He was a fucked-up creature. A fucked-up mess of a man with conflicted feelings. It almost made Hermione’s heart break a little for him.

As he continued to thrust and build a rhythm inside of her, the sound that left his lips was guttural, a growl so deep it could have only come from the depths of his stomach. It was primal. That sound alone caused a shiver to run up her spine, causing the hairs on the back of her sweaty neck to stand on end. His fingers gripped tighter, enough to ensure she would be bruised as he came. 

“Shit... Granger...” he rasped desperately as his hips bucked viciously into her. “...tell me to stop... tell me you don’t want this ... tell me you don’t want me to come inside you.”

The moan escaped her lips before she could stop it. The idea that she had that level of control over him. That he would willingly stop if she asked ... he wanted her to stop him, she realised. If she didn’t stop him, then it would be her who owned him. He would be lost to her.

“Don’t stop, Malfoy ...” she keened and thrust her hips back. And she knew he was coming undone. “...please...” 

“You’re gonna make me come –“ Hermione felt the hot rush of his come hit her cervix as he thrust into her so deeply her hips almost shattered. “Fuck – Granger.... shit-” he panted behind her and she kept her eyes on his face in the mirror, watching the look of pure ecstasy flash across it... like he had been waiting for this for too long. 

As he lessened his grip on her body, she slumped face down on the bed. She rolled to her back on the small bed and looked at him. He had his head flung back; his eyes closed as his arms steadied him on the bed. She could see him taking deep breaths in through his nose, exhaling slowly through his mouth. 

After what couldn’t have been a full minute, he brought his head forward and looked at her. He didn’t blink, at all, but a slow smile crept over his lips. He looked so fucking satisfied with himself.

“Fuck,” she said quietly, still breathing harshly. She knew they were both screwed now.

“Fuck, indeed.” He told her with a devilish grin.

Hermione felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck as she looked at him... and found that the hole she was digging for herself was starting to crumble in on her.

* * *


	6. Burning

* * *

He went out at first light, mostly every day. He didn’t come back until the Summer sun was fading, and Hermione could usually time it perfectly with the shadows of the Bridge. They were always in the exact same place, from her position in the Library, when she heard him come back to the flat.

Sometimes he would move around the flat, simply showering, eating, glancing at her to make sure she was still there. On other occasions he would quite literally pick her up over his shoulder and lay her down on the nearest surface and give her pleasure. 

He hadn’t had sex with her since that last time, though. He hadn’t given himself pleasure or asked her to give anything to him ... he just ravished her body with his hands, tongue, lips and teeth.

He would always ask ... tell her to stop him, but she never did. She always let him ... wanted him to think he was owning her. She wanted him to think that he was in control, when really if she wanted to, she knew she could be the one pulling the strings. 

It was nearly two weeks since he had last taken her and given in himself, and Hermione had started to grow frustrated and slightly anxious ... like she was waiting for him to strike, and knew she wouldn’t say no if he did. But why hadn’t he? Why hadn’t he taken her again? Why hadn’t he used her and spat her out and enjoyed every moment of it? 

She had found that answer out last night, when he came home a little later from wherever it was that he had been, and instead of heading straight for the shower like he usually did, she heard him rattle around in the kitchen, glass bottles clinking together hap hazardously.

Hermione shut her book and exited the Library, turning into the kitchen to find him knocking back more than his fair share of Fire whisky. He took back one glass, then proceeded to pour himself another. Hermione folded her arms over her chest and watched him curiously, wondering what had brought him to need to drink so much. 

“If you’ve come to criticize, gloat or otherwise annoy or inflict your unwanted opinion on me, then save it Granger ... I don’t want to hear it.” He sounded bitter. He clearly had been drinking before he had arrived back at his flat. 

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed. “Oh... poor little Death Eater Malfoy, he has his knickers all tied up in a knot because his master has him doing all sorts of dirty, dangerous deeds.” 

He glared at her. “What makes you think it’s The Dark Lord that’s caused me to drink?” he asked, his eyes looking glassy from the alcohol. “He’s the least of my worries when I’ve got your lot breathing down my neck because –“ 

He stopped himself, and Hermione’s heart nearly hammered through her chest. The Order... the order were giving him grief? Him personally or his Death Eater companions too? What the bloody hell was going on? 

“Tell me.” She demanded, looking at him harshly.

He chuckled and leaned back against the kitchen top, knocking back another whisky. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you...” 

“Try me.” She told him defiantly, looking him dead in the eye. “Are they looking for me?” 

He nodded slowly, his drink still at his lips. “They know you’re with a Death Eater, most likely being raped, tortured and got knows what else...” 

Hermione shuddered. Her first night in his flat, in her little room had felt exactly like that... and the shame crept up on her as she realised that it could have very easily has been rape ... but she had never told him no, and the things he had made her feel were beyond torture. They were other-worldly. “Do they know I’m with you?” 

He shook his head and smirked sloppily at her. “No one does...” 

She frowned. Not even his other Death Eater comrades? He hadn’t told them that he had taken her captive? There was only Malfoy in the whole world that knew she was here? “Why?” she asked, her voice sounding genuinely confused.

She saw Malfoy look down at the ground for a minute, looking conflicted. When he looked back up at her, his foggy stare almost looked slightly pained. “Because my friends want to kill you and your friends want to use you as bate.” 

Hermione froze, rooted to the spot. What was he possibly talking about? Why would The Order consider using her – 

“They know The Dark Lord wants your mind, Granger. He knows you’re special... The Order want to exploit that knowledge, reel him in ... they want to use you to lure him.” He sank back another whisky and loosened his tie. 

Her mind was swimming. “How do you know this? How do you know what they’re up to? Do you have a spy-“

“Never mind how I know, Granger.” He told her in a threatening tone, looking at her harshly as he became defensive. “I’ve said too much – no more.” 

“No, I refuse to believe –“

“I SAID ENOUGH, GRANGER!” he bellowed, throwing his glass across the room and Hermione jumped, flinching at the unexpected change in his drunken demeanour.

“You really are loathsome at times.” She seethed, still shaking as her adrenaline kicked in. “Completely heartless.”.

He glared at her and pushed himself forwards, striding until he was only a few steps in front of her. “You’ve always thought it, Granger.” He told her menacingly. “Why change the habit of a lifetime? Even in school you thought I was a prick ... the thorn in your fucking side.... don’t let me stop you now, just because I’ve made you quake with pleasure.” 

Her fists balled together and as her eyes fixed on his she could see them fighting with so many different emotions. “You thought no better of me either, Malfoy.” She answered him defensively. 

Yes, he was a prick. Yes, he was the thorn in her side...he had so much bile and hatred for her that she felt the intensity of it every time he loomed at her. Every insult always made her loathe him all the more.

“You have no idea what I thought of you...” he told her darkly, his voice low and husky. He stepped towards her and as Hermione stepped back from him, she found herself effectively trapped between him and the closed kitchen door. 

“You hated me.” She breathed, seeing fire lighting up his eyes as they roamed over her, taking delight in seeing her in a light blue bustier peeking out of her silk dressing gown, tied to her around the waist. 

“Not even close...” he bent down and whispered in her ear, and her breath hitched at the contact as his lips skimmed her lobe. “... you bested me in everything I did.” One hand touched her arm and it sent shivers running through her. “You tortured me academically and I disliked your blood status and what you stood for...” he brought his face back, his nose touching hers now and his eyes were bright. “...but that’s not why I hated you.”

Hermione swallowed thickly and felt herself going hot. She felt like she was on the edge of something ... something important and possibly life changing.

He brushed his nose against hers and then looked down at her lips. “I hated you because when I wasn’t looking, when I was too busy picking apart your faults... you changed your teeth and your hair and turned up at that bloody Yule Ball looking like you’d stepped out of a Witch fucking Weekly magazine...” 

He tittered to himself and grinned wolfishly at her. She could tell he was intoxicated fully now, as his eyes started to lose focus slightly. “The Yule Ball?”

“Yes...” he hissed and grabbed her forearms, bringing her flush against him, his lips a breath away from hers. “With you floating about in that funny blue coloured dress... your hair all curled smooth like it is now ... your teeth all straight and smiling at everyone ...” his jaw twitched. “... you never spared a smile for me, Granger.” 

Hermione winced when she felt his fingers tighten around her arms. “You hate me because you took a fancy to me at the Yule Ball?” she asked him defensively, feeling her heartbeat picking up. 

He snorted, a breath of air leaving his nostrils, as if she was asking a stupid question. His hips were joined to hers now, and she could feel his rocking into hers slightly. “That was only the start, love.”

His lips skimmed hers and she was sure that he was about to kiss her, but he kept on talking, almost at a whisper. “And this ....” he looked between them, implying he meant them both. “...this wasn’t supposed to happen... I just wanted a taste... keep you...see you safe...” 

They both sucked in air at his last words, as the air crackled around them. Keep her safe... had that been his cruel intention all along? Did he think that in his own twisted way, that he was doing what was best for her by keeping her here? Trapping her?

Hermione went to ask him more, but as soon as he said it, he must have realised his mistake and he had let go of her, emptied the space he was occupying and was suddenly gone, leaving her reeling and ever more confused, in his wake. 

Draco Malfoy was an enigma.

* * *

Hermione tossed and turned that night, sleep failing to claim her. She hadn’t heard anything from Malfoy since he had left her in the kitchen, so she could only assume that he had succumbed to sleep in his drunken state and was long gone into sleep.

How curious she found it then, that at first light, as the sun was just starting to rise, she heard her bedroom door creak open. She was stuck between facing him and telling him to get out, and faking sleep until he woke her... just to see what he was up to...

She opted for the latter, and remained lay on her side as she heard his footsteps walk to the left side of her bed, the way she was facing. She could feel him close to her, his eyes on her as her breathing remained slow, and her heart raced at the thought of what he would do or say to her. Why was he there? He never came to her in the morning... 

She almost flinched when she felt his fingertips graze her jawline in a feathery touch. She felt his fingertips move up slowly and along to brush the top of her ear and realised he was pushing a curl back behind her ear and off her face. His fingers made it up to the side of her forehead, and she felt herself swallowing, but kept herself still and her eyes closed. 

This was intimate ... like he was having a private moment with her to himself... something only for him, and she realised then that there really was far more to this. He was hiding so much, and she needed to get to figure it out and try not to get carried along on the tidal wave of his ever-changing emotions towards her. 

“Let me keep you...” he whispered, still touching the side of her head with the tips of his fingers. “Keep you safe.” 

And then it was gone. His touch, his voice and his presence as he walked quietly back out of the room, leaving blistering revelations in his wake.

* * *

The door. 

The locked door. She was absolutely positive that anything she wanted to know; she would find it inside that room. It was the only room in the flat that was locked. He was hiding something inside that room, she was sure of it.

Hermione hadn’t slept since Malfoy had been in her room that morning. At times she had wondered whether she had dreamed it, but her bedroom smelled like musky vanilla and mint ... his signature marked the room all around her, and everything left her with internal turmoil. 

How could someone so cold, hard and aggressive also be someone so warm, soft and placid? How could he swing so acutely between these two differing personalities? It was like he was lost within himself, an internal battle between wanting to be the good man, but the bad one always won out.

He had left her with a head ache and a determination to find out the truth. Why she was really here, in his flat and why he was feeling so strongly about needing to keep her safe, even when within his world, and within their strange and fucked up relationship, it was the wrong thing to do. 

She pondered upon the lock at first, wondering how best to attack it. Her senses couldn’t feel any particular wards up, so it had to be a simple lock and key. And a lock could be picked...

It didn’t take her long, once she found the right knife to jimmy the lock, trying her best to switch the position and get the door open. After a few tries, she suddenly heard a familiar click, and her heard beat faster at the idea of being able to peek inside and see exactly what Draco Malfoy wanted to keep hidden from her. She would have the answers she needed.

As the door creaked open, Hermione held her breath in anticipation. 

The breath never left her as she faced the room; her heart sinking into her stomach as she was faced with the one thing she hadn’t expected.

Herself.

* * *

Her hands were still shaking and she wasn’t honestly sure that she would ever get them to stop. It had been hours, and she still hadn’t quite got over it and got up the courage to wait in attack, ready for Malfoy when he came back through the floo. 

A cold chill went through her at the thought of seeing the full truth out there in front of her like that, the sheer volume and rawness of it all. She wasn’t sure when she had stopped feeling like she was going to be sick, but the thought of it brought that same feeling back up every time. 

There were moving paper articles all over the walls, articles about her or The Order or her friends... paper cut outs of her smiling or looking furious. Her heart sank further when she saw charcoal drawings ... all of her. All of them frowning or her hair over her eyes... all of them from side on, some of them with her Hogwarts uniform on.

It took her a few seconds to realise that Malfoy had drawn them ... drawn them candidly while they had been in lessons together. While she had used her parchment for her studies, he had used his to study her. 

She touched nothing within the room, feeling too numb to investigate further ... the intensity of the room had over taken her and right now nothing else mattered except for the feelings of fear and terror that had washed over her.

Poems ... small quotes littered a little table to her left. Sordid quotes and small texts ... possessive and dark and they screamed desire and pain and hate-filled lust. Whatever was going on with Malfoy and his obsession with her, it was dark and intense ... it took her breath away.

_‘I would kiss the darkness in order to obtain my own desire’._

_‘A man is what he thinks about all day long.’_

_‘Touched my mind with thought and my body with passion, you claimed every part of my being. All that I could do was surrender.’_

Hermione didn’t have the stomach to stand there much after that, and fled the room, leaving it unlocked but slammed the door shut behind her. She wished she had her wand, she would have burned the room to the ground ... freeing it from its ugliness and possessiveness. 

He was a sick, depraved man and her skin started to crawl at the fact that she had let him touch her... let him... so passionately possess her. He never caused her any physical harm, always so attentive ... she never realised how deep all of this went for him. She thought he was playing games... 

She had sat for hours now in the Living room, rooted to the same spot. Trying to blank it out, reminding herself that she needed answers as soon as he came through the floo. She wished she had normal clothing ... she felt so open and exposed to him, knowing that he could so easily take advantage of her. 

Three hours later than he usually got back to his flat, Malfoy appeared in the floo ... looking tired, drawn and drunk, again. Something was clearly vexing him for him to have to come home like this twice on the run. 

But she shouldn’t have to care about that. Right now, she wanted him to suffer, she felt so violated and lied to. She didn’t know who this Malfoy really was ... she didn’t know any of them, not even the one who chose to be intimate with her... the one she thought she might actually get along with ... maybe even come to like, eventually. 

He eyed her defensively as he walked from the floo, removing his grey tie and starting to unbutton his waistcoat. 

“I saw your room.” She spat at him from her place on the couch. She expected him to turn and shout at her; reprimand her and punish her for doing something she shouldn’t. 

But he didn’t. Instead, he removed his waistcoat, unbuttoned the cufflinks to his shirt and kept his demeanour calm and collected in his drunken haze. “You took your time...” he drawled as he then undone the buttons of his shirt and then removed it, letting Hermione have a full view of his creamy skin and the tight muscles beneath it. “Thought you would have cracked that door open on your first day of freedom...” 

Hermione stood up, boiling with rage. “You’re an animal, Malfoy.” She told him in a threatening tone as he raised an eyebrow at her. “You are a sick, depraved bastard and the thought of you touching me makes my blood run cold.” 

He smirked at her, facing her completely now with his hands in his pants pockets, Hermione trying her best not to take in the expanse of his broad chest and shoulders. “You’ve been my dark, disgusting little obsession for years now, Granger... in every way imaginable.” He told her in a low voice. 

“I wanted to best you, then I wanted to hate you. Then, I wanted to fuck you and own every part of you and completely ruin you... make your need rival my own. Find out what made you tick and what made you scream and what made you feel...” he started to circle her slowly. “I wanted to know you in every way possible, be part of your life without you ever seeing it ... watch you, keep you safe ... the only danger I wanted you unsafe from was me...” 

Hermione frowned. “You were following me.” She accused him, seeing the animalistic glint in his eyes. “You’ve been watching me ... you weren’t there to fight The Order that night, you were there for me.” 

He chuckled darkly, stepping still closer to her. “Such a clever little thing, Hermione... always spot on in your estimations...” he smirked at her, seeing her chest heaving. “Dolohov planned on taking you that night... heard that you would be out in the field. It was him who stunned you Granger, not me. But I got to you first, I caught you before he could see me and apparated back here with you ...” 

Hermione shook her head, her head getting so mussed up with all of the thoughts whirling around inside it. “Dolohov wanted me –“ 

“He would have played with you first before really torturing you ... then he would have given you to The Dark Lord.” Draco shrugged casually, like what he was telling her was nothing. “I got in there first... because I’m selfish and I wanted you all to myself... my own twisted little fantasies... taste you once and then let you go ... but I couldn’t, I can’t –“

“-you tied me up and stripped me down to nothing but my underwear –“ 

“-Your clothes were wet, dirty, bloodstained and ripped. The chair and blindfold were put in place because I knew you wouldn’t just accept my rescue attempt; my own selfish need to have a part of you ... it was easier for you to think I had kidnapped you, rather than explain my real and sadistic intentions...” He was a lot closer to her now, and her head felt dizzy with the truths coming from his lips. 

He was possessively intoxicating. Saving her in his own depraved way, trying to keep her safe...

“Now that I know, why not just let me go?” she asked him in a small voice, and she instantly saw his face harden and he stood in front of her now, his form bearing down on her, making her feel slightly intimidated. 

“Not a chance, Granger.” He answered her in a possessive growl. “The Dark Lord has a plan for Muggleborns and whatever his plan is, it is not going to involve you.” He warned her. “You’ll stay here where I can watch you ... keep you safe...” 

“Keep me safe by what? Shagging me?” she bit out testingly, angry that he wasn’t listening to her. “I can take care of myself, I don’t need you to do that for me.” She told him forcefully. “You just want me here so you can get your kicks ... possess me.” 

He was up in her personal space within seconds, but Hermione stood her ground, even when he did loom over her menacingly. “I didn’t do anything you didn’t ask for, Granger ... and I haven’t tasted you since because –“ he faltered, looking like he was struggling with his words. “- because it should have only been a taste... but I couldn’t stop myself...” 

Hermione drew in a breath and found her heart had started to race again. He was telling her that he tried to stop, but he couldn’t resist her. In his own dark, deep and possessive way he had tried to stop himself by making her tell him to stop each time... and she hadn’t. All she had done was fan his flames and make them burn brighter...she had unknowingly caused his obsession to spiral, because he couldn’t refuse to give her what she needed ... what she didn’t stop him from taking.

“Tell me to stay away from you and I will, Granger.” He told her in a serious voice, looking her directly in the eye. “Having you hate me and tell me to stop is the only way that I can stop myself...otherwise, I am fucking lost to all of this.”

Did she have that type of resolve now? Had you asked her half an hour ago, she would have said that she never wanted this man touching her ever again. But now .... now that she knew how deep his obsession for her ran, but that is stemmed from the desire to help and protect her and keep her safe ... now, she didn’t know.

He was primal and dangerous and cut-throat, and his obsession with her was deep-seated and all consuming. He clearly had boundary issues and left her with little to no control ... but it came from wanting her safety. 

He wanted to keep her ... keep her safe. And that thought caused the goose bumps to erupt over her skin as she looked at him, taking in the mess of a man in front of her that was a little primal, a little compulsive and dangerous and possessive... but also, in his own words...a little lost.

Hermione sighed. She didn’t know what she was doing or feeling or really wanting to say, so she went with the first thing that came out of her mouth. 

“We need to discuss boundaries...” she said quietly, seeing his eyes look at her curiously as his expression changed. “You say you’re keeping me safe, but I feel like a prisoner. I need to go outside.” 

He shook his head “You’ll run; I’m doing this for your own good. I can keep you safe, here.” His voice almost sounded pleading.

She shook her head now. “I won’t run... I just want to go outside... feel the breeze on my skin.” She told him. “And I-“ how did she even say this to him without giving him false hope... “-I would be lying if I said that I didn’t want to stay here ...” and she wasn’t lying. Yes, the thought of escape had coursed through her whilst trapped in her room, but once she was allowed to roam free around the flat, she found it ... comforting. She only wished she could visit the beautiful scenery that surrounded the walls outside.

His eyes lit up. Was that too much? Had she told him too much? Given him too much? “There’s something...” she went on. “...But I don’t know what that something is, yet.”

Malfoy gripped her by her forearms slowly and brought her to him. He looked deep into her eyes, fixing her with an intense gaze.

“Something you need to know about me, Granger is that I love, but I do it in the worst way imaginable.” Her breath felt like it was leaving her. “It’s why I’ll never let myself fall in love. Why I will always keep things on the level...keep it primal.” His eyes looked at her lips. “I don’t want some gut-wrenching feeling being switched on if I fall in love, and I turn into the same deluded, fucking arsehole who loses his heart. It’s much safer for me to stay unattached, for me and for whoever I’m with.”

Hermione felt dizzy. How could someone as passionate as him want to keep love out of the picture? Was he that scared of being burned by love? Was he that fucked up in his own obsessions that he didn’t think he could decipher the difference between love and lust?

He gave her a burning look, and she hated the way her body wanted him—no, craved him, was becoming addicted to him. A burning desire slid into her veins as if she had just taken a hit. She started to laugh. This was fucking insane. All of this ... it was so fucked up. 

“It appears we both seem to be addicted to things that will kill us.” Malfoy’s eyes widen before he grabbed her chin. 

“You’re nothing like me, Granger.” She shook her head. “You still have no idea what obsession and addiction feel like.” He licked up her neck, his tongue dragging over her beating pulse, across her jaw to her lip. He dragged her bottom lip between his teeth.

“And you are not going to die, Granger. No one is taking you away, not while I’m here.” The pain caused her to moan, her body to coiled tight as it warred with itself; to bring him closer or push him away.

His eyes grew heavy, his breathing matching hers, both of their emotions too close to the surface to hide. They watched each other, knowing there was an invisible countdown. An explosion was coming and there was nothing they could do to stop it. 

She didn’t know who moved first, or if, like magnets, they just connected and fused together automatically, mouths hungry, hands gripping at each other, nails, teeth, all of it. Branding, anger, claiming and hatred clashed over them like the waves of a rough sea. They crashed to the floor, the cold of the wood and the pain of it making her body bow, bringing her closer to him. 

He grabbed her hips, fingers digging into her, before she was suddenly lifted into the air. “Legs around me.”

They wrapped around him tightly in a natural response as he took large strides towards his bedroom where he placed her in the centre of the bed. Laying her out for him as he climbed up on top of her, leaving her at his mercy. His eyes widened, turning deeper, his blonde lashes fluttering as his nostrils flared possessively.

“Fuck me, Granger ... look at you...” he swallowed.

He took her in as if she were spread out for him, a feast he couldn’t wait to devour. His fingers traced her collarbone, down between her breasts, down her stomach, making her wriggle for him to stop and never stop at the same time. She was lost in a world of emotion as she felt his grip on her tighten. Heat flashed in his eyes, and his lips parted as he looked down at her, loving the sight of her twisting beneath his intense stare.

“Let me keep you.”

His large hand dragged up her skin, goose-bumps followed his path as he cupped her breast, squeezing, watching her face for every reaction before moving to the other one. This time was different. He was not rushed. His touches were a slow caress, as if he had all of the time in the world and he intended on using it on her, mapping her body with his touch, his eyes memorizing the landscape if her, each curve, dip, freckle and scar.

“Please... let me go and you can keep me...” Hermione squeezed her eyes shut at the gentleness of it, the vulnerability... she didn’t know how to feel vulnerable around Malfoy. They were always so defensive with each other. “Please, I’ll come back to you...” she begged again, but for freedom or his touch, she was not sure. But he seemed to know. He always seemed to know. 

“What are you doing to me, Granger...” he whispered against her neck as he licked and nibbled his way to her ear, licking the shell before biting the lobe, causing a moan to fall from her lips. His fingers dug into her hips as they started to rock, needing to feel the friction. Her head fell back, exposing her neck to him. His lips dragged up the centre of it, across her jawline, before gliding back down, spending time kissing, licking and nipping at the base, just above her pulse. “I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t come back...”

It was a predatory manner that sent tingles throughout her. She pushed him back, before rolling them over on the bed until she was staring down at him. His intense look was almost too much. It was like he was inside of her, seeing her every thought, knowing every forbidden desire; how much she wanted him and how much she hated that she did. He knew because the same war was in his eyes, reflecting back at her. “I’ll come back...I promise.”

She should get off him, turn around, be the rash one. War leads to blood and pain, and there's no doubt it would be her blood that would pool to the floor, feed into the ground. But being above him, her hands against his hard chest, his heartbeat pounding under her palms as her fingernails dug into his pecs… it gave her a power she had never experienced before. “Give this to me, please...”

Draco Malfoy was beneath her, wanting her, desperately so, and that made her feel powerful. Powerful to the point where she knew she could get him to do this ...

In that moment, she was not weak, small, little Hermione Granger. She was not the bookworm; little know it all that she had come to be labelled with since Hogwarts. She was a strong woman who knew how to seduce a man, how to bring him to his knees. It was euphoric. She could feel it fly through her veins as she leaned down and took his lips, not scared if she was doing it wrong or comparing herself to any other women that came before her. She kissed him as if she owned him, and he let her.

His big hands went around her, moving up and down her back, into her hair. His head lifted, pressing his lips harder against her, as if he wanted to fuse their lips together, meld them for eternity. Hermione hold his face, capturing his lip between her teeth, eliciting a growl from him. His big hands grasped her face, holding her, before he pressed his lips against hers once more in a slow, sensual kiss, their lips swollen, breathing choppy. “If I let you, then you have to let me keep you safe...”

His hands moved to her shoulders before pulling down the straps of the baby doll, his lips and teeth following their path. Her head fell back as he took her nipple in his mouth, his tongue circling as his teeth pulled, causing such pain and pleasure that her back arched and she pushed her breasts out further into him. 

Hermione’s hands dug into his hair, tightening, holding him to him, and at the same time her hips rocked against his hardness, causing friction to ignite the fire only he could cause. But it wasn’t enough. 

“Yes... anything...please,” fell from her lips again, like a curse. And she meant it.

His hips shifted as he pulled down his trousers, revealing himself. His dick slapped against her stomach, causing her breath to leave her. He grabbed the base, squeezing, before giving it one hard stroke. She watched as a bead of cum fell down his shaft, and she couldn’t help but lick her lips, wanting a taste. Her eyes flicked to his, to see them watching her, filled with the heat of hell inside of them. He gave her a nod, knowing what she wanted. “Okay...” 

She moved back, lowering her head, poking her tongue out to a first taste of him. Hermione was shocked by the softness, silk covering steel. She put my hand around him, next to his, as she opened her mouth, then she lowered her head before pulling back up, and repeated the motion. His other hand wrapped in her hair and his hips lifted, causing her to take more of him, her eyes beginning to water. She licked up the thick vein, flicking the head a few times, before sliding her lips back over him. 

“Fuck...” he groaned, pulling her mouth off his cock with a pop. The wild expression in his eyes had turned lethal, showing her that all the times before, he was restraining himself. But that restraint had snapped. He lifted her up again, before pulling her down on him, hard, causing her to cry out as he filled her. “Shit – fucking hell Granger.” 

His fingers held her hips tightly as he rolled his own, pressing where she needed him most and causing a wanton moan to fall from her mouth, before he lifted her up and slammed her back down. It stole the breath from her lungs, and pleasure crashed through her. She grabbed his shoulders before lifting jer hips, finding her own rhythm.

“Oh god,” she breathed. “So good...” the angle and the position was so intimate. It felt amazing.

He kept pulling her hips down to find that sweet spot and oh ... feeling him inside her almost made her feel primal now. She wanted him to fill her and fuck her and take her and possess her. She felt feral in that moment. 

“I can feel –“ she whispered as her walls started to flutter around him. “I’m going to –“ her head snapped back and her mouth opened wide.

Their thrusts met, causing the wildfire to break free, to course through her at speed. Her mouth parted even as an orgasm took over her, drowning her. “Draco...” His name left her before she could stop it, making him freeze beneath her. She had never said his first name before.

Every muscle tensed, and then he grabbed her face, moving her curls out of the way before claiming her lips with a desperate need.

“Say it again,” he growled against her mouth, only just separating their lips. Already knowing what he wanted, his name fell from her lips again in anguish. 

He flipped her so she was on her back, and he entered her again. The muscles in his arms and neck strained as his thrusts turned wild, with enough force to move her across the bed, as if he was trying to brand her. 

“Fuck, I need to hear you say it again.” He told her as he fucked her into the mattress. 

She looked up at him and bit her lip. “Draco...” she said for him as his hips met hers furiously.

His head fell back on a growl, and his stomach tightened, before her name fell from his lips on a whisper, a prayer. 

“Hermione...”

The ecstasy tearing through their veins was wearing off, leaving the truth behind. They were not lovers, not really... but that that moment felt so intimate.   
The room was bathed in darkness with a click of the switch. A thick arm came around her, pulling Hermione against a hard chest, so tight it felt like ropes binding them together. She froze, not even breathing, when she felt his breath tickle her ear.

“Sleep.” Another demand, the complete opposite to the softness of the kiss against her temple.

“Did you mean what you said?” she asked him quietly, feeling his large body resting against hers as his arm held her almost protectively. “Will you let me go outside tomorrow? Explore Bath?” 

He groaned a little, as if remembering their mid-fuck conversation. “Shit ... you know how to get what you want out of me while I’m fucking you, don’t you ...”

Hermione said nothing but couldn’t help but feel triumphant of the fact that yes, she would probably get him to agree to anything while they had sex ... it seemed to be something that she held over him, and she intended on holding onto it. 

“I just want to see the City...” she told him in a soft, quiet and deeply manipulative voice. “I want to see the Roman baths, or even just see the Pulteney Bridge up close...”

She heard him sigh, and she could tell that sleep was trying to claim him. This was all very new ... she had never had sex with him in his bedroom before, never mind have him fall asleep with her. He always left her ... always. “You might run away-“ he started sleepily.

“I promised I would’t...” she interrupted, and found herself drawing small circles on his arm with her fingertips. “You could perform a locking charm... lock yourself to me.” 

“It’s not safe...” he whispered as his breath deepened in slumber. “Need to...safe...can’t let... don’t want you to ... keep you with me.” His arms drew her ever nearer as if making a point. 

“I am with you,” she whispered, feeling his head on her shoulder and his lips grazed her neck. “Take me to Bath tomorrow and I’ll still be back here with you tomorrow night...I promise I’ll still be here, like this... like you want...” 

“...Maybe...” and then his breathing evened out. 

As she felt his arm loosen around her, Hermione gently untangled herself from his embrace, and quietly left Malfoy’s room, glancing back at his peaceful, sleeping form before closing the door behind her. She couldn’t help but admire his features and physical appearance in that moment, lying there looking so human... so perfectly vulnerable. She almost stayed, when she saw the almost angelic way his eyelashes spread across his face as he slept ... but it was too intimate. Too gentle and trusting for them both. That wasn’t who they were to each other. 

As she walked down the corridor and back to her own room, she really hoped that when tomorrow came, he would keep his promises.

* * *


	7. Crumbling

* * *

He was cold towards her that morning. Hermione had spent a good portion of the early hours trying to figure out a way of prompting a conversation regarding Malfoy letting her outside. She had bid him good morning cheerily, but he didn’t even acknowledge her. 

She made several attempts before the middle of the morning, but each time he met her with silent treatment and his eyes never met hers. She had wondered whether it was embarrassment from his feelings that she was now aware of or the fact that she had found his room and now that he was sober, he was feeling shamed. 

The real answer shocked her, however, when Hermione finally sucked up the courage to confront him just after Dinnertime, whilst he was sat at the little Breakfast bar in the kitchen, reading the newspaper.

Hermione sauntered in slowly, and she saw him shift uncomfortably on his stool as he tried not to glance at her. She was wearing a thigh length black slip, with a matching black silk dressing gown. If she was going to get what she wanted, she needed to properly get his attention to do it. 

“Malfoy,” she started, and she saw his eyes shift up to her for a second. “I’ve been thinking about your promise.”

She heard him snort. “Which one?” he asked in a deadpan tone. “I’m handing them out like bloody Berty Botts does with beans these days...” 

Hermione frowned. “What?” not understanding. 

He sighed heavily and closed his newspaper, now giving her his full attention. “Do you mean me taking you out into Bath?” he asked her, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes.” She beamed.

“No.” He said matter of factly.

She scowled. “But you promised. You said-“

“Granger...” he interrupted her, getting off his perch and taking his cup of tea with him as he walked closer to her. “If every man were held accountable for what they promised a woman during sex-“ 

Hermione huffed. “You didn’t exactly fight the notion when I asked –“

“What else am I supposed to say while your balancing on my cock?” he chuckled at her and sipped from his teacup. “I wasn’t going to ruin the moment ... I might be a masochist but even I don’t like getting blue balls.”

Hermione shook her head and glared at him. “Is this because you’re embarrassed about what you said last night? About what I found?” she asked accusingly. “You’ve been in a sulk all morning, barely looking at me. Is this your way of clawing back some leverage?” 

This time it was Malfoy’s time to scowl. “Absolutely not, Granger.” He answered her in a low tone. “My bad mood has to do with the fact that last night I went to bed with a warm, female body next to me, and woke up this morning with her gone.” 

Hermione swallowed thickly and wrapped her arms around her middle. So that was why he was being so sulky this morning? Because she had decided not to stay in his bed? How did he expect her to? They were having sex ... he was keeping her ... they were .... they weren’t... oh, this shit was so fucked up that Hermione didn’t even know anymore. 

“We’re not ... we-“ Hermione wasn’t sure how to form her thoughts into words. “We’re not lovers, Malfoy. I don’t know what –“ she tried so hard to explain the complexity of it. “-we’re not lovers.” 

Malfoy gave her a curious look. She didn’t know what was going on in his head and wasn’t really even sure if he knew, either. “Then, where are we?” 

Simple, but bold. Very bold. 

“I don’t know.” She answered him honestly. “We don’t know each other, sometimes we don’t even like each other.” She continued, looking at the floor. “We’ve brought out the worst in each other so far and I can’t deny that I feel like I’m somehow contracting Stockholm syndrome because-“ 

“Say that again, sorry?” he asked her, confused.

Hermione backtracked. “Stockholm syndrome. It is a psychological response. It occurs when hostages or abuse victims bond with their captors or abusers. This psychological connection develops over the course of the days, weeks, months, or even years of captivity or abuse.” 

She saw Malfoy blache slightly. “But you know me-“

“But you’ve still held me captive ... done things to me that- that-“ Wow, this conversation had taken a turn for the worst. “-yes, I permitted ... but if I was untied and not put in the situation then maybe-“

Malfoy shook his head. “The attraction and tension have always been there Granger, you’ve just had your eyes opened to it now.” He told her defensively. 

“You’ve gone about it the wrong way though Malfoy!” she told him angrily. “No one should ever have to go through this when –“ 

She heard him huff and get exasperated. “Meet me at the front door in half an hour. I give up and not going around in circles anymore, you’re going to Bath.” And then he walked out of the room, causing the conversation to be over. 

But it was by no means over, Hermione would make sure of that. She knew damn well she wouldn’t bring it up again until much later, though. They couldn’t label this thing... it was too dark and damaging. 

Her heart did lift however to realise that she was finally getting a little freedom back.

  
  


* * *

_**“Pulteney Bridge crosses the River Avon in Bath, England. It was completed by 1774, and connected the city with the land of the Pulteney family which they wished to develop. Designed by Robert Adam in a Palladian style, it is exceptional in having shops built across its full span on both sides.”** _

Hermione practically bounced with excitement. Malfoy rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you need to buy an information booklet for every bloody building that you see?” 

She nodded enthusiastically. “I like to know as much information as I can about things... I am always learning.” She told him happily, not even bothered that she was stuck to his side because of his locking charm. 

She was so close to his side that half hour in she felt his arm move and his hand now rested on her lower back, just above her arse as they walked. 

Two hours ago, Hermione had stepped out of the shower to be confronted with a mid-length, body-con denim skirt, a white cami-blouse with small buttons up the front and straps and a pair of Converse trainers with a nude, long cardigan to finish off. Her first proper clothing in nearly two months. 

As Malfoy’s taste went, it wasn’t bad at all. Very casual, which surprised her. She let her curls loose and when she made it to the front door for the time that Malfoy had allotted, her breath caught in her throat.

No waistcoat or dress pants. A tight, short sleeved T-shirt in a navy blue colour, with a white collar and finished off with a pair of navy coloured chino pants to go with a pair of navy trainers. Very muggle-like. The T-shirt hugged his thick forearms nicely and showed off his trim waist. His fringe was swept off his forehead and flicked backwards, and oh ... the glint in his eye. 

Devilish. 

He knew he looked good. 

The first breath of air as they exited the flat was like a true taste of freedom. The air hit her face and she could have cried. Malfoy had watched her out of the corner of her eye, and she could have sworn that she saw a hint of guilt trace across his features, before he was performing the locking spell and pulling her to his side, before directing her out of sight of the building and off to see the delights of the City.

Hermione felt like she was walking on air the entire time, truly taking time to take in and appreciate the sounds and the smells and the sights. She would never again be so unappreciative of the small things. That was when she decided that she would pick up every leaflet for everything they went to see while they were out. She would save them for when she was stuck back in the flat, and savour the information, which would be something new to read which weren’t Malfoy’s library books. 

They stopped at one of the many little independent shops just on the Bridge, and Hermione managed to convince Malfoy to buy her a little Fridge Magnet of the landscape of the Bridge to take back with her. He reluctantly agreed, moaning about something to do with not liking clutter in his flat, but she was more focused on the fact that his wallet was full of Muggle money. He barely had Wizarding coins.

They climbed down some beatiful stone steps off the Bridge, their bodies still close together and his hand still on the middle of her back. It was a fine day, and the River Avon was calm as they made their way along the riverpath, next to a Rugby ground. Hermione took in the sound of the River gushing and tumbling, and the birds flying overhead. She had not felt this at peace for a long time. 

“You have a lot of Muggle money.” She stated. It wasn’t a question. “I didn’t realise you spent so much time living amongst your inferiors.” She looked at him side on. 

Malfoy was leaning forwards with her against the side, looking at the River. He looked almost as peaceful as she did, like he was letting everything wash over him and turning things over in his head for the better. “I don’t tend to put myself in the Wizarding world much these days, Granger.” He told her, still looking out at the River. “Before you came along, I’d come out here every night to this Bridge and just ... be.” 

She understood that. To just be. Not needing to do anything else except be in the moment. 

“I’ve been living here for five years.” He began again, and Hermione wasn’t expecting the sudden rush of information he was giving her... opening up just a crack. “When my Mother and Father went, the Manor fell to me.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Rather than it take root as a safe house for The Dark Lords other followers, I sold it and used the money in part to buy my flat.”

Hermione supposed it was slightly like cutting ties... but why? Why go as far as to sell your family home and move to a small, humble flat and not interact with the Wizarding world unless absolutely necessary?

“I did hope that once all of this was over, I could invest my money and somewhere down the line think of some sort of career.” He told her honestly, and it made her heart twang slightly, because that is exact same thing that Hermione had always thought about too.

She saw it then. The similarities between them, on different sides of the line. The collateral damage of a war that didn’t really have anything to do with them, but they had placed themselves on the line for the people they loved, because they cared. The war had left them both complexly fucked up, and they were now somehow learning about bits of themselves through each other. 

“Bath has a University, and a few years ago I considered going there when everything was over ... dive headfirst into obscurity, somewhere no one knows my second name and live my life without needing to look over my shoulder, no matter the outcome of the war.” He ran his thumb over his lip, and Hermione’s breath hitched as the sunlight hit the side of his face and illuminated him beautifully. “But I don’t think about that now ... it’s all borrowed time.” 

She furrowed her brow and a small shiver went through her at his words. She felt the hand on her back making small circles subconsciously as he spoke. “I would have liked to go to University too, possibly to become a Doctor or a Nurse... I quite like the healing side of things when I’m with The Order.” 

Malfoy nodded. “You’re good at healing the sick. You think fast and you’re right there with the answer when someone needs you.” Hermione viewed him curiously and he gave her a small smile. “I’ve watched you for a while, remember... I see you.” She blushed. “I always see you.” He whispered.

Biting her lip, she decided to go for the jugular, while he was being so open about everything. She had to see what she could get out of him before he closed down again. “That room, Malfoy-“ she started, and he looked at her fully. “Why do you keep those things? Your drawings are brilliant, but ... it’s not right, surely you must see that?” 

He diverted his eyes and put his head down slightly. He wasn’t embarrassed, he just didn’t seem to like the direction the conversation was going in. “I see it as appreciative, rather than obsessive... it’s hard to explain, Granger ... maybe one day –“ 

“Tell me now, Malfoy.” She demanded. “I want to know now.” 

He turned to her again, with annoyance in his eyes then. She could tell he was about to berate her, but then something caught his eye just behind her, at the far end of the path, and for a moment she saw a look of pure vulnerability pass over his features, before his eyes flicked back to hers. 

Hermione was about to ask him what was wrong, when she found herself suddenly within his harsh grasp, and before she had time to process what was happening, she was being apparated back to his flat.

This made Hermione angry. 

Very, very angry.

* * *

  
She slapped him. 

It was a resounding snap, far better than the one she had planted on him all of those years ago. This one held so much more contempt and anger. It held frustration and sadness and hopelessness. He had taken the only good thing she had felt for herself away from her in a matter of seconds, all because something had spooked him. 

“Take me back.” She demanded spitefully, her voice wavering in anger.

“I didn’t give you a time limit, granger.” He told her with a sneer, his cheek reddening. “We come home when I say we come home.” 

“You are insufferable!” she shouted at him. “You saw something you didn’t like and you got scared! Well, you don’t need to protect me Malfoy, I can look after myself!” 

“Button it Granger, the conversation is over.” He went to walk out of the Living Room, having enough of going round in circles with the same conversation.

Hermione exploded. “Take me back outside or I’ll burn it all, Malfoy.” She told him in a threatening voice. 

He looked around at her and frowned. “Then you’ll have to do your worst, Granger... do your fucking worst.” He gave her another sneer and she erupted, moving before he even knew what she was doing.

As she ran at him, she side-stepped and grabbed his wand from his back pocket and made a run for it to the corridor. She heard him running behind her as he caught onto exactly what she was planning on doing. 

“ _BOMBARDA_!” – the door shattered, wood flying everywhere as it exploded and Hermione flew inside, aiming the wand at the back walls, knowing she had seconds before Malfoy would be on her.

“ _INCENDIO_!” she shouted, flames shooting out of the wand just as she felt a pair of arms grab her around the waist and wrestle the wand from her hands. 

Hermione struggled as he lifted her off the floor, and between the pair of them grappling for the wand, they both lost their grip and it ended up scattering to the far side of the room, near to the outside of the door.

Malfoy dropped her and she blocked him from getting past. She heard him practically roaring in anger at what she had done. She had set alight to the drawings, newspaper clips and other perverted memorabilia he had of her within the room. 

“You don’t understand what you’ve done!” he screamed at her. “This was... it was-“ 

“I want it to burn, Malfoy.” She told him angrily. “This isn’t me. This isn’t the real me, it’s just a figment of your sordid imagination!” she shouted as she saw him grabbing his hair, looking like he was in despair, like she was burning a part of him. 

“You don’t know what you’ve done.” He told her in a cold, shallow voice as he looked at her with utter contempt in his eyes. “This was –“ 

“This wasn’t real. It was possessive and depraved and bordering on insane, Malfoy!” she stepped in closer to him, pointing her finger at his chest. “You have to start treating me like I am a real person, I am not going to break ... and if I do, it’s you and your strange little infatuation that will break me.”

She saw him go quiet, his eyes still looking at her but they were now emotionless. It was like he couldn’t quite decide whether he wanted to kill her or fuck her. She only sound in the room was the flames dancing together, igniting properly and starting to spread slowly.

“This room was my way of getting out my tension, Granger.” He told her finally, through gritted teeth. “I focused all of the bad things going on around me, and built my sanctuary around you, Hermione.” He edged closer to her as she became captivated by his explanation. “You were the one thing I thought of that brought me away from everything...this obsession of mine was created to escape the hell that I was living – still living in.” 

Hermione gulped. She was like his therapy. His fucked up, severely damaging therapy.

“You’re fucked up.” She choked out, not knowing what else to say.

She didn’t take her eyes off of him, even as she heard the crackles of the fire consuming the walls slowly, taking the evidence of Malfoy’s depravity with it.

He stalked towards her, but she held her ground, tilting her head to maintain contact with those predatory eyes of his. He brought them foot to foot, almost hip to hip. The looming wall of a man stood before her, expressionless, emotionless, everything being taken out of him apart from all the devastatingly calm superiority he now seemed to have. His hand snapped up, aiming for her chin, but she smacked it away. He grinned, tried again, and failed after another one of her slaps. It was her turn now; if she was his sanctuary then he was her pitfall.

Hermione launched her hand at his throat. He didn’t defend himself. He stood there, letting her wrap her fingers around his neck as his eyes flashed. She was taunting a bear. Poking a giant. She wondered if he would crush her, mentally or physically. 

“We can spar verbally all you like.” His offer brought her chills. “But we both know we argue better physically.”

The temptation of his statement wrapped around her chest. He was right. So painfully, unbelievably right. 

“No.” her grasp on this situation was slipping, sliding. Her fingers gripped the cliff’s edge, but the ground crumbled beneath her grasp. 

“Then get out, before I make you leave.” The demand was thick in his throat, coming out in a garbled mess. He was frustrated and angry and fucking turned on, his pupils dilated. He was messed up in the worst way. 

“You don’t want that, either” She told him accusingly, trying to maintain her hold on the situation. “You want me in here, Malfoy ... you want me to burn with all of your disgusting memorabilia of a girl that never really existed ...”

“I don’t want you gone?” he said in a growl, staring at her venomously. “Granger, I’m not usually a very violent person if unprovoked, but if you don’t leave now then I’m going to fuck you roughly into the table.” His voice was low and threatening. “The flames will burn us both.”

“Who are you really, Malfoy?... you change your mind so often, I can’t keep up with your multiple personalities.” She spat at him. “I never know which one of you I’m getting next.” 

“I’m all of them, Granger.” He told her aggressively. “Every spiteful, sarcastic, obnoxious, soulless part of me is mixed together in battle scars and possessive tendencies... You’re fanning my flames and I can’t stop the fire raging.”

She knew he didn’t just mean the fire surrounding them. “Have at it, then ... possess me...I’m no stranger to pain anymore.” Calling his bluff... he wouldn’t do it... they’d be ash in minutes.

But then she believed him. And she knew that that was where their connection lay—in pain. He had been through it. Battled it. The evidence was clear in his emotional scars. The sterility. The harsh communication. They were two tortured souls who seemed to have found each other by chance. And maybe all she needed was to get her fill of him so she could cut the connection and go on her merry way... she hoped.

She heard the flames crackling louder in the corner of the room, the drawings up in flames... this room would consume them both soon. But she refused to look away from him.

She rationalised that she only wanted what was between his thighs. The cheap thrill. That hard, generous length. And she bet her life that he felt the same about her own private places. Once the hot and sweaty masterpiece took place Between them, and the spark ran out and there was nothing left, she would pull his ripcord and fast-track him in the opposite direction. No emotion. No more attachment. His attachment was too heavy for her right now.

His lips curved, his growing smirk alluding to that slight dimple in his left cheek. Hermione’s fingertips scratched over the rough stubble of his jaw. Harsh, yet too damn inviting. Her tongue snaked out, gliding over her tingling lower lip. Her body is out of control. Her heart vibrated beneath her ribs, her pulse pounded, her stomach fluttered with a mass of tickling butterflies. 

Ignoring the heat now coming from the flames behind him, she released his throat, her fingers gliding over his neck, his chest, before dropping to her side. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t continue, and she couldn’t stop. He stepped back, kicking off his shoes, then gripped the hem of his T-Shirt and pulled them over his head, exposing his sculpted flesh. Not only muscles, but scars. His body was a canvas of brutality, with inch-long lines of puckered skin across his rib cage and a circular mark above his right hip. She had noticed them before of course, but now ... now she really saw them for all of their beautiful brutality.

He watched her watching him, wordlessly, almost breathlessly. “You’re accident-prone,” she murmured. Never really usually verbally wanting to draw attention to his battle scars or the Dark Mark on his arm. But fuck it, he couldn’t hurt her much more than he already had. 

“I guess I am.” He answered in a quiet voice.

“But not the violent type, apparently...” she met his gaze. Judging by the things he had told her he wanted to do to her sexually in the past, she knew the answer to that already ... and it scared her. Scares her because a part of her buried deep down inside was curious.

“Definitely not.” His eyes glimmered with the slightest tease. “I hate the stuff.”

She would have to be a blind fool not to pick up on his sarcasm. It was there. Right there. In his grin, in his intensity, in the almost scary way he controlled her without even knowing it.

Oh, God. She was dancing with the devil. And she loved it. He was dangerous. There was no doubt. And those non-violent scars around his ribs looked awfully similar to stab wounds. The circular mark above his hip spoke of a hex injury. Or maybe that was just her imagination talking.

Maybe it was the situation, or the fact that they were stood in a burning room and they both could burn together, but need wrapped itself around her, pulling her limbs, crushing her chest. For once, she felt… she just felt. She was not hollow. Not adrift. This man had her tethered to something, his presence keeping her feet on solid ground.

“Come here,” he growled. There are mere feet of space between them, but he demanded her submission. He wanted her to succumb. She couldn’t deny his request, she never could... she was drawn to him. She inched forward; her chin lifted to keep their gazes connected. “Burn with me, Granger,” he purred, slicing a hand around her hip to drag her into his body. 

She gasped, and he stole the sound with his mouth, his lips overtaking hers, his tongue delving deep. He kissed her into mindlessness, those strong arms wrapping around her, his hands gliding down her back to cup her arse. He lifted her in a callous jerk, positioning her pubic bone against his hard cock.

She spread her legs, wrapping her thighs around his waist to grind against him. Warmth flood her core, her body eagerly preparing for pleasure. There had never been a better feeling. A greater sensation. She wrapped her arms around his head, tangling her fingers in his hair. 

His scent was seduction, rich from aftershave and etched in sweat and virility. His kisses were strong, and yet there was a slight glimmer of softness. The most delicate swipe of affection. Her heart hurt. She didn’t want it to, but it did. It clenched. It wept. This man... this beautiful, daunting, fucked up man. And she was going to burn with him, the flames within them both rising higher with the room.

“Fuck me,” she demanded into his mouth. He growled and strode toward the other side of the room, pushing her back onto the table as the heat from the flames licked at the both.

Still holding her, still kissing her, he then guided her to lie down as he knelt between her spread thighs on the table, the sight was profound. His eyes were wild. Carnal. His broad chest heaved with energized breaths. Veins pulsed from his carved arms. She visualised his dick again, the generous size taunting her mind. He shoved down his underwear, and his thick cock was revealed. The length is above average, but the girth… oh God.

“Hike up your skirt a little more.” He demanded roughly. Playing hardball could have been fun, but she too far gone for games an she knew they were against time. She wanted him too much. Not only his lust, but the distraction. The connection. The reprieve from reality. 

“These need to go.” His hands snaked up her inner thighs, reaching her black lace knickers. He gripped the crotch, his fingers prodding, tugging, until the material teared. He stared down at her, his nostrils flaring, his teeth digging into his lower lip in a show of pure restrained aggression. 

“I hope you like it rough.” He said menacingly.

“We’ve had it rough before.” She replied defensively.

He chuckled low in his throat. “I’ve kept myself back... but you’ve ruined something of mine, so now I’m going to ruin you...” his eyes were on fire, reflecting the flames starting to encase them.

“And what if I don’t like it?” His gaze glided to hers as a lone finger parted her slick folds, making her gasp.

“Then I’ll enjoy changing your mind.” That finger breeched her entrance, sliding inside her. It was tease, the slightest penetration leaving her anticipating the need to have his cock inside of her.

His free hand slid over her stomach, the callouses on his palms scratching, marking her skin. He grasped the cardigan from her shoulders and then front of her cami, ripping it open as the buttons spread everywhere. Then he grabbed her bra, yanking the cups to the sides. She was exposed to him, the dislodged material plumping her breasts, creating a mass of impressive cleavage. 

“I’ll have fun breaking you in.” He taunted as she pushed to her elbows and clench her walls around the lone digit inside of her. He wasn’t going to win this, but the flames...they were burning.

“You’re too late to break anything.” His brows furrowed, and she leaned up to wrap her arm around his neck, pulling him down to her before he can question her response. “Fuck me...do your worst.” she whispered in his ear and licked his neck. 

He was salty, the lingering sweat sinking into her tongue like an aphrodisiac. He snarled and jerked his hips, the head of his cock finding her entrance. She could feel his hand down there, positioning his length, then in one harsh thrust, he was deep inside of her, stretching her muscles, blinding her with pleasure and the slightest twinge of torture.

She moaned, clinging to his neck as he shoved into her. Pulse after pulse. Slam after slam. His hips moved with hers and as she put her head back, she saw the fire burning and stretching around the of the walls, encasing them as they joined together in the middle of the room. 

If this was hell, then they were both going to torture each other for all eternity... burn with their unrivalled lustful hate.

“Fuck.” His curse was ferocious, his movements were merciless. He rested his forehead against hers, looking her in the eye.

“Who _are_ you?” she asked him again through clenched teeth, wanting an answer for their earlier argument.

“Your fantasy,” he teased with a kiss, and she dug her nails into his shoulders in protest.

“My nightmare, too.” he argued back and he bit her lower lip, then sucked it into his mouth. 

“I absolutely fucking am.” he chuckled again and grinned, exposing his dimple, and a softness in his eyes that she had never caught before.

It was beautiful. Frighteningly so. For a second, she paused, taking in his complexity. The calm of his smile against his hard penetration. “I thought you were going to be rough.” She provoked him.

He bit her lip again, this time harder. “I thought it was better not to scare you.” He grinned when she winced slightly. Their panting couldn’t drown out the sounds of the flames getting closer ... the table would be surrounded soon.

“Or you’ve wimped out...” she raised her eyebrows mockingly. “Bluffing...”

“Yeah?” He raised a brow of his own and slammed into her. “You really think so?” He snaked his hand behind her neck and gripped her curls, tugging her head back. Her breasts thrust toward him. 

Hermione’s eyes rolled. Pleasure. So much pleasure. His mouth trailed a path from her cheek to her shoulder, then her chest. His kisses became stronger. Harder. She squealed as he sucked on her skin. Shit. He was leaving marks, tattooing her with his domination. 

“Too much for you? Because I haven’t even started,” he murmured against the side of her breast, his hips still bucking, fucking the life out of her. Or maybe he’s fucking life back into her.

She didn’t’ want that. She didn’t want change. She needed her sterile existence right now. It was a coping mechanism ... she needed to not feel. She needed to block it all out ... the Bridge, the fighting, the room, the fire... the heat.

“No. Not enough.” She needed the harsh detachment to keep her sane. She shoved at his chest and bucked her hips, encouraging him to roll. They tumbled skilfully, switching positions on the table, her on top, his muscled body beneath her. 

“Better?” He raised a brow in question. She nodded. His cock sank in deeper, stretching her further. “Fuck, Granger...” He cupped her breasts, his fingers digging into flesh. 

She rode him, her head flipping back as her back arched and her hands splayed on his hard chest. She saw her shadow on the wall as the flames licked all round. All of her muscles were tense, taut from the build of bliss. She was hitting new angles that sent her flying “Shit...ah!”

“What?” He asked through panting breath.

“Feels so good, so hot...” she moaned, gyrating her hips.

“Get yourself off on me, Granger... you’re burning.” His words were rough, but his lips curved in a tease. He wanted her to come for him, wanted to watch her. He pushed up and sat, his hand sliding over her thigh. He gripped tight and didn’t stop fucking her; he continued the rhythmic pulse of his hips, the stimulation of it all gradually making her fight for breath over the sensation, the flames and the smoke.

“This rough and dangerous enough for you?” His eyes held something that threatened to weaken her. Something that cracked her ribs apart in an attempt to touch her heart. 

“Yes...keep going...” she glanced away and buried her head in his shoulder.

The sweat was dripping off them now as his hands found her arse as he continued to sit, their chests plastered together, their sweat mingling. He guided her movements, making her grind against the dick nestled deep inside her. The friction teased her clit, the pleasure pulsing through her from her core, to her stomach, to her breasts.

“Fuck...your cunt is as tight as a virgin’s.” He rasped out and she closed her eyes and smiled. 

“Oh, you’re so sweet.” She replied with a roll of her eyes, and he chuckled, digging his fingers deeper into her arse. 

Tomorrow, she will have a roadmap of marks on her body. A treasure trove of carnal memories. 

“I can start something new in here now.” He told her gruffly, pumping into her so hard she could feel his back muscles tensing. “Burn the bridges and start again...” 

Hermione knew he meant the room. “Is this your way of letting me go?” she panted out, rocking her hips against his roughly, groaning from the pressure. 

He leaned down, his mouth latching onto her nipple. He sucked. He ground. He thrusted. Every movement catapulted her towards an edge that she would happily dive over. The closer they got, the closer the flames crept upon them...ready to engulf.

“This is my way of letting myself go...” he whispered, his lips reaching her neck and biting hard.

She screamed. “Why did you bring me back here? What did you see?” He shook his head. He was already close. She needed to focus, get it out of him. He growled in her ear., “Tell me.” She whimpered as the rough texture of his tongue swept her breast, trailing her areola. 

“You can’t fuck it out of me, Granger...” his hips were thrusting maddeningly against hers, making her cry out.

“Oh, God, don’t stop.” she wanted more. She needed more. 

“If you want to come and stop us both burning alive, then stop asking...” his voice was rough and thick as he continued to pump, moans escaping from the back of his throat.

“If you want me to come at all, then tell me...” she bit back as she matched his pace. If she really concentrated then she could withhold it ... she could stop it... and it would drive him crazy, because he always made her come... he always needed her release. It was almost as if giving her an orgasm made up for the fact that he was holding here. But whether it was against her will anymore or not, she didn’t know anymore.

She could feel hers pulsing faster on the inside as he picked it up to a punishing pace, her orgasm within reach. He groaned, and the delicious sound acted as a trigger. Her pussy contracted, pulsing over and over. Wave after wave of ecstasy pummelled her from the inside out. Drowning and re-energizing at the same time.

She moaned, longer, louder. “Yes. Draco .... please .... oh, God...” she felt like the flames were licking at her heels, bringing the heat and intensity to explosive new heights.

“Fuck... you .... shit!” he growled, pistoning his hips. She slowly blinked through the shattering peak, her mind and body were tangled in a delicious web of delirium and euphoria. Each change in his expression became a memorable snapshot she vowed to never forget. She was now aware that they were surrounded by flames, her skin was starting to itch from the heat as she came down from her orgasm.

“Hermione- oh fuck- burning- yes....” He shouted his release, his fingers creating scars—emotional and physical. That beautifully rugged face of his contorted. Sweat beaded his skin from their joining and from the flames creeping ever closer to them.

Wisps of hair covered his eyes as his forehead scrunched. She watched, enraptured, as his pleasure took hold, and she thrived on him succumbing. For once, he was not in control. He was weak. He was human. He was so many different forms of himself.

“Tell me who you really are.” She whispered. Her chest tightened in excitement, as if she’s won a battle. But what could she have won other than a temporary distraction?

His shoulders slumped, and his grip loosened. The emotionless face she’d grown accustomed to returned along with his steady breathing. She stared at the stranger poised between her thighs, unable to look away from the lazy intensity staring at her. 

“...someone you used to know...” he murmured, resting back on one hand. “Accio wand!” he shouted, before muttering a dowsing spell, and the flames that were almost licking at their skin had suddenly disappeared.

Hermione snapped out of the lust haze and commanded herself to focus. She sat up on him, pushing Malfoy away, off and out of her. “You’re wrong.” She told him shuffling her skirt down. “The boy I knew is still in there somewhere... he’s just lost beneath all of the bitterness and pain.” 

Malfoy made a noise and smirked at her. “The boy I was has nothing to do with the man I am, Granger. “ he told her sullenly as he fixed his pants and looked around at the blackened room.. “He was an innocent, scared tearaway who would have done anything to protect the people he loved...” he looked at her. “He made the wrong choices for the people he loved.” 

Hermione frowned and covered herself from the waist up, suddenly aware of her nakedness on her top half. “You were young, you didn’t know-“

“I did know!” he laughed almost menacingly at her. “You think I didn’t know that trying to kill Dumbledore would have made me public enemy number one to your lot?” he sounded angry now, but with her or himself, she didn’t know. “You think I didn’t know that taking the mark would affect my life forever? Affect my future and taint anything else that I did for the rest of my life?” 

“But your Father –“ she started. His Father and Mother would have taken great pride in him taking the mark, pleasing Lord Voldemort. Malfoy would have felt like he had to do it to please them. To earn any type of respect from his Father.

“It was my choice, Granger.” He told her threateningly. “Mine. And when I really fell from the Dark Lords grace ... when I displeased him further by giving him false information regarding your whereabouts... my family paid the price.” 

Her heart sank. Five years ago. That’s what he meant. This had started ebbing away at him five years ago when his parents died and he bought the flat ... thinking he was saving himself and his hurt over his family became an obsession with her....something else to think about.

Silence filled the room. He wasn’t supposed to tell her that, she could tell. The rubble and ruins of the shrine that Malfoy had built around her was crumbling before their eyes; turning to ash... unsalvageable. And that was when she realised. This was all he had. This was the only good thing that he had left to hang on to now. 

Her. 

She knew Lucius and Narcissa were killed, but The Order heard rumours of a raid in Romania not going as planned, and they were caught up in the blasts. Hermione had no idea that Malfoy was they cause of their deaths...that he had unknowingly sacrificed his parents because he chose to give a false statement as to where she was hiding with The Order.

She didn’t quite let it hit home yet, but she knew this would change everything. “Why didn’t you tell him where I was?” she asked him quietly, stretching out her hand as if to touch his arm comfortingly, but she pulled it back at the last minute. 

He frowned at her, as if she was missing something. “Why do you think?” his eyes were searching hers, trying to figure out if the penny had dropped. Trying to figure out whether she had understood his actions this whole time ... taken in his desperation and his possession and his hunger to protect her fully.

Lead dropped into Hermione’s stomach as she finally comprehended.

In his own warped, intense and depraved way ... Draco Malfoy was in love with her.

* * *

Hermione heard the whispers before she fully regained consciousness. With her door slightly ajar, could make out the tell-tale signs of conversation coming through the gap in her door. Furthermore, Draco Malfoy’s voice wasn’t the only voice she recognised. 

She jumped out of her bed and opened the door slowly enough so that it didn’t creak and alert anyone to her presence. Carefully and stealthily, she crept along the small corridor to the Living Room, where the voices were coming from. 

“She’s asking questions, and if you think I can keep holding her here for much longer-“ she heard Malfoy whisper impatiently. “I can’t keep her locked in here- you saw her today, I think she’s getting used to me now, I don’t think she would run if-“

“You gave your word that she would be kept safe and away at all times.” A quiet voice spoke from somewhere within the room.

“She’ll end up going mental, she just needed to get out and-“

“Remember it’s unbreakable, Malfoy.’ Came the other very familiar voice. “You came to us – we’re going off your information. Taking her out means she could be seen by anyone, not just me.” The voice told him threateningly. “If you’re having a change of heart-“

“Oh, as if.” She heard Malfoy hiss as she slowly rounded the corner, peeking around it to see if she could spot the owner of the other voice “I’ve told you everything, I’ve promised to keep her here by any means necessary. I just don’t think it’s fair that she can’t-“ 

“I swear to God, if you get her hurt.” the invisible voice, which Hermione realised was coming from the fire that Malfoy was standing in front of her. 

“-You really think Granger would let me or anyone else hurt her?” Malfoy asked him with a laugh. “Besides, you know how I feel-“ 

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as Malfoy shuffled to the side slightly and Hermione saw the all-too-familiar face from the fireplace staring back at him. 

“If you care for her like you say you do, then you’ll do everything in your power to keep her there ... keep her safe, like you promised.” The fire crackled and Hermione’s mouth went dry. 

George Weasley knew where she was. 

George Weasley had made Draco Malfoy take an unbreakable vow.

Draco Malfoy was a double agent. 

For her.

* * *


	8. Falling

* * *

  
The wind had been knocked out of her. She knew she should have reacted in the moment, but she felt too numb to think. Instead, she had taken herself back to her room and then lay in bed, sleep not finding her again for the rest of the night as her mind whirled. 

Pretend kidnapping ... unbreakable vows ... Malfoy’s allegiance to either side hanging in the balance ... all for her. Hermione’s head spun every time she thought about it. She didn’t know what was real and what was fabrication anymore.

She grew angry. Feeling lied to and cheated by everyone she thought she could trust. Even Malfoy was in on it, and it felt like the walls were closing in on her. Her blood was boiling by the time first light hit her windows, and she began to pace up and down her room. Tension building up inside her was threatening to spill out, she could feel the inferno of anger tangling its way through her body, and that was when she decided that she needed to let it all out. 

Hermione practically ran down the corridor of her room and burst into Malfoy’s, causing him to grab his wand half asleep, as if to defend himself from a strange intruder. He squinted until he saw her face and then lowered his want. 

She attacked.

Diving onto his bed, Hermione threw herself at him, her fists hitting his chest and arms and anywhere else that she could hurt him before she knew she would be overthrown. It took seconds, but she felt satisfied when she felt her fist lock with his jaw and heard him hiss. Once Malfoy had caught her fists, he managed to flip them over, locking her body underneath his and holding her hands above her head in one hand and put his other around her throat. 

“As wakeup calls go, I usually prefer lips over fists.” He told her roughly as his hips pinned her own to the mattress. 

“You’re a liar.” She spat at him. “You’ve lied to me this whole time. The Order know I’m here; George knows I’m here ... I’m just a pawn for you to manoeuvre.” Her chest heaved with the weight of him and the exertion of hitting him. “I saw you talking to him in the Fireplace.”

He sneered at her; his eyes boring into hers. “You think I didn’t know you were there?” he asked venomously. “I’m actually surprised you waited until now to come barging into my room.” He pressed into her harder and she could feel all of the hard length of his body pressed against her. “I wanted you to hear.” 

She frowned at him. “Why? If it’s such a big secret, why did you want me to find out?” she felt the grip on her neck lessen slightly. 

“Because then I don’t have to keep any of this from you anymore.” She saw his eyes change, and he suddenly shifted off of her once he saw that she was no longer fighting him. “If you found out by yourself then I’m not the one who has told you ... that part of my vow is null and void.”

 _Shit_ , yes ... he took an unbreakable vow... for her. But why? And did he know her that well enough to know that she would be loitering in the hallway at that exact moment?

“How did you know I would be listening?” she asked him with a scowl.

He smirked. “Because I know you.” He told her matter of factly. “You’re a nosey cow ... and I know you don’t fall asleep until gone midnight because your head is stuck in a bloody book. If you overhear voices talking in an otherwise empty house, you’re bound to listen in.”

Crafty bastard.

“So, now that the part of the vow about me telling you is void,” he continued. “It should make it easier for you to see that I’m keeping you here for a good reason and George Weasley agrees.” He said. Hermione sat herself up on her elbows, watching him as he now sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders sunk and looking down at the floor. “The other part of the vow, though- I’ve taken it seriously and I plan on seeing it through, Granger.” 

“Protecting me?” she asked curiously, swallowing thickly.

“Always.” He looked around at her, his eyes bright and serious. “I took the vow and I intend to keep my promise.” 

Hermione scooted to the end of the bed, sitting next to him quietly. “Why did you take it?” she heard him sigh, and then knew she wasn’t going to get the answer she wanted. “Let me guess... you can tell me some things, but you can’t tell me anything that actually matters?” her tone became annoyed because he picked up on it and raised an eyebrow at her. 

“I can tell you what is important enough for you to know,” he told her in a low voice. “And what is important at the minute is that you know that George Weasley knows you’re here, he knows you’re safer with me than anywhere else and that I am keeping you from harm.” 

“I’m still not being told anything at all, Malfoy.” She raised her voice and his eyes darkened. “You’re still holding back and I don’t understand why. Did George know that you were going to take me? Did he know you were torturing me?-“ 

“I’d hardly call it torture, love.” He answered her defensively and stood from the end of the bed to stand and look at her, her eyes taking in his large frame in just his boxer shorts. “You might have taken a little while to warm to me, but you can’t deny that your body was affected by me from that very first night.” 

He was right, but his morals were wrong. Why couldn’t he see that? Yes, she had reacted to him and yes, she had given consent in the end, but ... he went about it in the most depraved and sexually demeaning way. For someone who said all that he wanted to do was protect her, he had a very strange way of showing it in the beginning. 

_He wanted to make you burn like he did in the beginning; set you alight straight away instead of teasing the flame bit by bit ... he was trying to make you catch up too quickly..._

She hated the way her mind always tried to rationalise his behaviour, when she knew she shouldn’t. Why did she always do that? It only made the boggy marshlands of their relationship even more miry. She was being weighed down by what she should actually be feeling for him and how she was starting to feel.

He loved her. 

In his own fucked up, sadistic and controlling way; he loved her. His actions- questionable, most of the time- did show her that. But his love came from a dark and dangerous place, and if she wasn’t careful, she knew that it would try and drag her down to the depths with it. 

“You got that reaction out of me by forcing it, Malfoy.” She told him defensively, coming to stand in front of him. “If you hadn’t have done that, who knows where we might be now.”

“You’d still despise me and be locked up in your room, screaming to be let out.” He told her seriously. “If I hadn’t have made you see, you wouldn’t be walking freely around my flat, having multiple orgasms whenever you click your fingers and ask for it.” His pupils were dilated and he was looking at her lips. 

“Oh, I still slightly despise you...” she whispered. “But who’s to say that we wouldn’t have got here eventually anyway?” she kept eye contact, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. “Who’s to say that if you’d have been honest with me from the start, that I wouldn’t have warmed to you more and we’d have a better relationship because of it.” 

He snorted. “A better relationship that fucking each other senseless at every opportunity?”

“Relationships aren’t just about sex and possession, Malfoy. They’re about love and understanding...being open and honest and communicating. Not keeping secrets and withholding information.” She saw his eyed flicker with something she didn’t recognise. 

“Those aren’t the type of relationships I have, Granger.” Was all he said in reply, looking at her intensely.

His whole idea of this strange little thing they had with each other was obviously the only way that he knew how to love. What he thought love was. It was dark and deep and all consuming. It was possessive and aggressive and didn’t let you breathe, didn’t let you come up for air. He felt that way, and that was how he wanted her to feel, too. How did she change that, on top of everything else that was going on? 

“If you share your information with me, then maybe we can communicate and open up to each other a bit more?” she tried, seeing his eyes searching her, trying to figure out what she wanted.

There were a few seconds silence, and Hermione hoped that he had caved and decided that he wanted to open himself up and let her in; he would tell her and share the details so she could figure all of this out. 

“I can’t right now.” He told her finally, and she felt her resolve crumble. “It’s too hard to explain.”

Hermione’s eyes almost burst with anger, feeling that she had taken one step forward but several steps back. She couldn’t do this anymore, not when he wasn’t being forthcoming. Instead she made a move, barging past him and shouting expletives about refusing anything from him until he told her everything.

Once in her room, she threw herself down onto her bed and cried in desperation.

* * *

Three days later and while Hermione was at her wits end, she was also slowly driving Malfoy to his. 

Three days later and she had learned nothing more. He had refused to tell her anything, deciding instead to go to work and not come home until late. He never sought her out, he never went to her room and when she did venture around the house just before bed time, she always saw him moving to his own room and shutting the door on her. 

Constantly feeling like she was standing on eggshells, Hermione started to wish that she could just disappear. Away from the flat and from Malfoy and The Order, who obviously were intent on playing their own mind games with her. She just needed to be away ... it occurred to her that for the first time in a long time, she just wanted to be free of everything and everyone and everything that tied her to her place within the world. 

Hermione dissected the situation as she always did; but the answers she came up with never quite added up. Why was George willing for her to be kept here? Why was he happy for Malfoy to keep her? Why the fuck were Malfoy and George even consorting together? None of it made real sense without all of the facts. 

That was why she devised her little plan, on the first day of her ‘isolation’. If Malfoy wanted to look after her ... if he vowed to look after her, then he wouldn’t do a very good job if she wasn’t going to take care of looking after herself. Hermione went on hunger strike and decided to stop showering. She knew how Malfoy felt about her eating habits and personal hygiene; he always made sure she was taken care of.

She knew it wouldn’t take him long to respond when he realised, she was eating nothing, leaving her food untouched and walking around the flat in the same clothes for three days. She could tell it was affecting him because his jaw would clench slightly as she walked past him. 

It came to a head on the fourth day, after Hermione had taken her untouched roast dinner back to the kitchen at dinner time and left it on the side. Once she reached her room, she threw herself down onto her bed, opening the pages of her book; ‘Of Mice and Men’ and settled down quietly to read, trying to focus as her stomach rumbled. 

Her door flew open, hitting the wall and Malfoy walked in determinedly, wearing all black today and looking rather menacing. The anger and frustration in his eyes were evident, and she felt proud that she was able to elicit that emotion from him and goad him into confrontation. 

Hermione couldn’t move from the bed fast enough. Once she realised that Malfoy wasn’t here to talk, she knew that his actions would be physical and that meant that he would be unpredictable, just like his nature. She launched herself over one side of the bed, but it was no use, he was already on her, throwing her over his shoulder and moving quickly into the bathroom. 

Hermione heard him utter a charm under his breath and her skin felt the air hit her sensitive parts as her clothing vanished, then heard the unmistakeable sounds of the magical running taps from the bath. Within seconds the bath was filled with pink and purple swirling water, bubbles foaming almost over the top of it and steam rising along with the scent of peaches and cream. 

She felt him lowering her, but instead of landing in the bath gracefully, Hermione kept hold of him and refused to let him go, which meant that as her body hit the water, his came tumbling on top of hers, water gushing out as they landed. 

“For fuck sake, Granger!” he bellowed, his black clothes dripping wet with the water as his body sank in to the water deeper, into her own body. He was just as submerged as she was, and the way that they fell meant that her naked legs were now wrapped around his waist, his hips nestled against hers intimately. 

Hermione tried pushing him off, but the angle of the bath had her not quite sure how to do it successfully. Her wiggling underneath him was doing no good, only causing friction where she tried not to want it. She felt his chest lift off of hers momentarily, before she heard him says “fuck it.” And then found he had a sponge and soap on his hands.

Malfoy managed to get to his knees in the bath and used a free hand to fist her wet hair and pull her up with him, her legs still wide open as she now sat up in the bath facing him. Then her eyes widened as he went about soaping the sponge before lathering her chest, neck and torso, cleaning her.

“I am not a child, Malfoy.” She told him through gritted teeth, taking a sharp intake of breath every time, the sponge made contact with her body. 

“Then stop fucking acting like one, Granger.” Her berated her as he took her right arm and gave it the same attention as the rest of her. “Not eating or bathing for the last few days has had you resembling a corpse ... not a good look, I’m afraid.” He wasn’t looking at her, he was too busy working on her body. 

Hermione scowled at him, even though he wasn’t paying attention. “I refuse to eat until you’ve told me what I need to know.” She answered him, ignoring the shiver that ran down her spine when he finally made eye contact with her. 

Draco Malfoy looked good wet. He looked very, very good. The black T-shirt he wore clung to his chest and his arms, his short hair was otherwise unaffected apart from the fringe at the front that was usually flicked back but was damp and stuck to his forehead. His eyes were glassy and his skin was flushed from the heat of the water. Who knew that behind his perfect, physical appearance that there would be such a tortured, twisted soul ... he was a beautiful disaster.

He continued to run the soft sponge over her skin, and she noted that as he started to lather her legs, his actions became slower and more focused. “If you won’t eat then you’re not taking care of yourself, and that means that I’m-“

“You can’t protect me from myself, Malfoy.” She taunted him, watching his face as he continued to soak her left leg, slowly making his way from her knee to the inside of her thigh. “I’ll eat nothing until you tell me-“

They both sucked in a deep breath. His from the frustration of refusing to do as she was told. Hers from the friction of having the sponge pass from her left inner thigh to her right via her now sensitive cunt. This was not what she had planned. Being seduced in a bathtub was not on her list of things to do today, and yet because she was unable to move, she found herself succumbing to the feelings so easily.

“The night I brought you here, George Weasley had organised for you to do field work so it would be easier for me to intercept you...” his voice was low and his eyes were concentrating on her body, focusing on bringing the sponge across her chest again, scraping lightly past her nipples and making her bite back a moan. “...I’d been in contact with him a few weeks before, telling him what I knew. I told him I could keep you safe with me, keep you hidden.” 

Still swirling the sponge around Hermione’s breasts, hitting her nipples every other time, she bit her lip and felt her head lowering back to the lip of the tub, her eyes closing to the feeling but unable to squeeze her legs together to stop the ache between them. 

“Why?” she asked in a shallow breath. “Why did he believe you?” the sponge was moving lower again, down her torso and sinking below the water ... closer to the thrum of desire ebbing away within her. 

“Because he saw it.” The sponge brushed against her again and she let out a little moan. She opened her eyes and saw his on fire. “He knew I would do anything to make sure you stayed safe.” 

By ‘ _it_ ’, she knew exactly what he meant. He meant that George had seen the passion Malfoy had for her. He had seen the longing and the need to protect her. Malfoy was a high-ranking Death Eater, if he was going to George Weasley with a proposition then it was something of great importance. 

“What did you tell him?” she asked in a small voice, quivering as the delicious assault on her sensitive flesh continued. “What was so important that he agreed to let you keep me?” 

His hand stilled as he looked at her, and she groaned at the loss of feeling. She knew why he had stopped ... she had used his words against him. He was keeping her. His eyes darkened possessively, taking in her flushes complexion and heaving chest.

He growled, the rumble of his chest vibrating through her. He reached slowly forwards, almost predatorily and pushed her harder into the back of the bath and gripped her hips under the water, his fingers digging into her thighs. His position changed slightly and his erection ground down against her pubic bone, making her want to beg. 

“Keep you ...” He whispered against her ear as his lips made a trail over her neck. “Granger, when we’re done, I won’t need to keep you ... you won’t want to leave.”

“You won’t keep me... as soon as this is over, I’ll be gone.” She breathed out, mewling. 

No matter how risky or careless or insane, she would never admit it but she wanted this man. She needed him, if only to uplift her for those few short moments before she came crashing back down. He retreated, retracting his devilish affection in a slap of withdrawal. His heavy breathing brushed her lips, her chin, her cheeks. His fingers continued to dig into her. 

The dull light from the bathroom ceiling highlighted the flecks of colour in his eyes, the greys and the blues as he stared at her with such sweet bewilderment that she knew he thought it was crazy, too. This didn’t make sense. It was not what attraction was supposed to be. But attraction was what it was. 

“Keep lying to me then, Granger...” he murmured. “Tell me you don’t want me.” Her heart climbed into her throat, restricting, suffocating. Silence. “Yeah, I didn’t think you could,” he taunted, releasing her. His hands snaked their way from her hips and one delved into her, sliding straight to her cunt.

She gasped, not in shock, but in undiluted pleasure. Everything tingled. Vibrated.

“For someone who says they don’t want me and will walk away when this is finished, my fingers can feel how wet you are for me.” His fingers plunged inside of her, two or three, she was not sure. 

She was too focused on grasping his shoulders, water spilling over the side of the bath, holding on to stop herself from disappearing under the water. He twisted, pulsed, stroked. He pulled no stops in his masterful manipulation as he peered down at her, stalking her expression. She wanted to succumb, not just physically, but emotionally, too. She wanted to admit how she felt. To tell him the growing length of time in his physical presence was like a feast to her starving soul. 

But she wouldn’t. Ever. Hermione sank her teeth into her lower lip, caging those words inside.

“You fucking want me,” he snarled. “I bet you want me more than any other man you’ve been with.” She closed her eyes and gripped him tight. Those talented fingers didn’t stop moving. The heat of his stare didn’t fade. 

She was falling, yet soaring. She was hurting, yet drowning in the most exquisite pleasure. There was no life. No past. No future. There was only now. Only ecstasy. Only sexual possibility. Hermione was glad her secrets weren’t scattered over her face; a mass of devastation. He was so engaging. So protective. Oh, so protective. She could have swooned, but instead her body started to tremble.

She knew very little about this man, and yet he slayed her. “Say my name, Granger.” His fingers plunged deeper as he held her gaze. 

“Why? Why do you want me to say it?” She panted, her breathing fractured.

“Because it makes me feel like you want me.” She knew she needed something different to call him when they were intimate. He was always Malfoy, apart from those few times when she had said it ... Something other than ‘Malfoy’ made him human. Made him familiar. She always tried to dissociate him... it was like he was being two different people. 

He released a barely audible chuckle. “Will you promise to scream it when I make you come?” 

She shook her head. “No.” Not a chance would he get her to scream, not when he was trying to distract her from what they were arguing about. “I won’t.” 

His fingers stopped moving in a harsh threat. “Then whisper it for only me to hear.”

“Oh, God...” her restraint snapped, and she moaned in agreement. There was no will to deny him. Not when it was a mere whisper of surrender.

“Promise, Granger.” His thumb flicked over her clit, igniting a pulse of wildfire. The things this man had her doing and saying ... the responses he got out of her ... sexually, he owned her as much as she owned him.

“I will,” she blurted. “I promise.” 

“Good.” He leaned closer, the rough stubble of his cheek brushing hers. His lips gently sliding over her ear. “Call me Draco.” He breathed. She whimpered. 

_Draco_. When she thought about it, what a fucking seductive name it really was. He twisted those fingers, deeper, faster, the pad of his thumb pressing harder on her clit. The water sloshed lazily around them, the only other sound in the room besides their laboured breathing.

“Draco,” she whispered in warning. She was close, nudging the precipice. He inched back and gazed down at her, still damp from the water, his eyes intent, his lips tight. God, she wanted to fuck him. She wanted to pull him close and kiss him until she felt his soul return to him.

“What, love?” he was breathing heavily, still watching her.

“Draco...” she couldn’t say anything else. She couldn’t think anything else. “Oh, God, Draco...” she closed her eyes and rested her head against the wall as her core clamped tight. Her cunt contracted over and over, the height of bliss hitting her as he leaned his body into hers to keep her contorting. He didn’t stop fingering her. Those digits of his pulsed.

His thumb continued to work her clit. Her fingers clung to him, her mouth finding his neck, her teeth digging into his flesh. She tasted. She felt. She became invigorated. All because of this man. The realisation lessens the bliss, guiding her down from her peak in a gentle descent. She whimpered as he holds her in one arm, his other hand still filling her. 

“You done?” he murmured. Her voice was lost to pleasure, her throat too tight to speak. She nodded and met his taut expression, noticing the wild, restrained lust in those harsh eyes of his. “Good.” He pulled away and sank back onto his thighs. “Enough, now...” He was breathing heavily as he looked at her through hooded eyes. “...I’ve got something I want you to see.” And then he was out of the bath tub, grabbing a towel around his still clothes form and walked out of the room, not looking back at her.

Hermione sighed heavily, hating how he made her emotions swing from one complexity to another. She was always do level headed, until she entered his world. Now she was so wanton and let her physical wants rule her, just like him.

This man was the devil. And she had decided that she liked to dance with him.

* * *

Hermione came into the Living room sometime later, dressed in a white fluffy robe that had been set out on the bed for her. She had smiled at it, knowing that besides the clothes he had laid out for her for their trip into Bath, that this was yet another item of clothing that he was allowing her to cover up with. 

As she padded into the centre of the Living room, she saw him standing there, hands in his pockets and looking tense. It was then that she noticed the large, luminous bowl in the centre of the coffee table, instantly recognising what it was. Hermione stepped towards it, her eyes flicking between him and it. When she was finally next to him, she saw the tension in his face.

“What is this?” she asked, looking for confirmation. She knew, but she needed him to say it, make her believe it. She could already see the memories swirling, looking other-worldly.

“I’m going to show you, Granger...” he told her in a low, serious voice as he kept his eyes on the bowl. “It’s time.”

She held her breath in anticipation. “Show me what?”

His eyes looked up at her; bright and broken and defeated. And he was beautiful to her then.

“Everything.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this chapter, the next two will be flashbacks, POV from Draco:-)
> 
> I think we all deserve to know why Draco is the way he is ... no?? ;-) 
> 
> Xx


	9. Hogwarts 1994 -1998

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting patiently for this part!   
> Xx
> 
> ______________

* * *

  
**25th August 1994**   
**11.30pm**   
  


The air was thick and warm, the Summer wind in the air doing nothing to tamper down the closeness of the temperature, despite the fact that it was late. 

Draco had hung back, knowing he might need to get involved but not really knowing how to start. How did one stir up trouble and cause harm without being able to avoid detection of using harmful spells? He was essentially useless. So instead, he steadied himself against the base of a tree and waited in anticipation for the first sounds of imminent attack. 

He didn’t have to wait long. Screams soon started to fill the air, curses striking and the colours of wand tips exploding in the air, an act of defence. Draco almost held his breath, knowing that within seconds the first runners would be making their way past him, and he would do nothing but stand there and gloat and pity them all. 

His Father had told him not to wander, but Draco would never listen. If he had to stand around and wait until the show was over, then he would bloody well go and stand wherever he liked to watch it unfold. He was never given anything important to do, and it almost made him feel inferior.

As the panic started setting off and the screams got louder, Draco saw the first thrum of Wizards and Witches running around wild, running for cover and mercy. Draco really did pity them; they had no idea what they were running from. What horrors would await them if they were caught. 

In the midst of all of this, his eyes managed to train in on three very familiar faces running towards him. Oh, this really was his lucky fucking day. Absolutely priceless. They didn’t even see him looming over them until the frizzy headed Witch stopped in her tracks, wide eyed. 

“Malfoy?” Weasley asked as Draco sauntered out from under the tree casually. 

The screams were getting louder, and Draco knew that the only people who were being picked off were the ones with dirty blood .... like her.

“Hadn’t you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn’t like her spotted, would you?” he nodded at the Mudblood, sneering at all three of them as he said it. He knew how to goad them properly.

He inclined towards Granger, and at the same moment, a blast like a bomb sounded from the campsite, and a flash of green light momentarily lit the trees around them.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Hermione defiantly. 

“Granger, they’re after Muggles,” said Malfoy. “Do you want to be showing off your knickers in mid-air? Because if you do, hang around… they’re moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh.” He told her mirthlessly, knowing that the idea of seeing her knickers was detestable, but would be fucking funny to see.

“Hermione’s a witch.” Harry snarled. Draco really did fucking despise him.

“Have it your own way, Potter,” said Malfoy, grinning maliciously. “If you think they can’t spot a Mudblood, stay where you are.” He glanced over in Granger’s direction to see her reaction. Her face was always hard and expressionless around him ... it made his blood boil that he could barely get a rise out of her these days. 

“You watch your mouth!” shouted Ron. Everybody present knew that “Mudblood” was a very offensive term for a witch or wizard of Muggle parentage.

“Never mind, Ron,” said Hermione quickly, seizing Ron’s arm to restrain him as he took a step toward Malfoy. “Oh, come on,” said Hermione, with a disgusted look at Malfoy, “Let’s go and find the others.” 

Draco watched her pull her little friends off in another direction, throwing him a look of utter contempt as she went past. He just continued to smirk at them, feeling pleased enough with himself to know that he had riled them all up.

“Keep that big bushy head down, Granger,” sneered Malfoy.

If she valued her life then she would heed his advice and make herself scarce. Not that it mattered to him; he didn’t care about what happened to her. She was living on borrowed time. 

* * *

  
**25th December 1994**   
**8.00pm**   
  


The effort was admirable, but that didn’t mean that he had to appreciate it. He had Pansy on his arm, preening like a Peacock and telling anyone who would listen that her dress had cost far more than theirs had. 

She looked like a fucking pineapple, and the colour didn’t match her skin tone. But he knew that if he danced with her and spent the night being attentive, then she would let him have a good go on her later. And who wouldn’t want that? 

He could hear the Great Hall was buzzing with music, excited students standing outside ready to go inside the closed doors, admiring the outside decorations that could put the parties at his own Manor to shame. They’d pulled out all the stops to have this Yule Ball looking monumental; a once in a life time event. 

Pansy took his hand and he winced slightly. Public displays of affection were not his thing. “Draco, Daphne is over there by the stairs.” She said excitedly. He was about to tell her to let go of him and go and join her, but instead she dragged him with her, over to the side of the staircase.

Idle chit-chat resumed; Draco being forcefully trapped into speaking to Timothy Minson – Daphne’s dull as dishwater date – about the current state of the Quidditch pitch and how the state of the grass would affect the way in which the Quaffle would hit the ground. Riveting conversation.

Draco messed with his shirt collar and bowtie, already feeling uncomfortable. The room was stuffy and as more people loitered around the bottom of the stairs, he started to feel uneasy. Draco didn’t do large crowds very well, preferring to keep his circle small...he got more privacy that way. He looked around for any more familiar faces, sneering when he spotted Potter just across the way, standing ridiculously awkwardly with one of the Patil girls. God, he was a fucking drip. 

Saint pissing Potter and his current reign as a Tri-Wizard Champion. That fella could fall into a bucket full of shit and come up smelling of fucking roses. Always found a way to turn a situation to his own advantage. Draco hated him. Hated how liked he was and how fucking lucky he was to have the good fortune of everyone knowing his name for positive reasons. Whenever anyone mentioned Draco’s name, it was usually for quite the opposite of reasons.

Somewhere in the distance there was a small intake of breath. Draco noticed the chatter go a little quieter, students choosing to whisper about something instead. He felt Pansy’s hand squeeze his a little tighter, and he winced. Draco made a face and looked up at pansy, who was suddenly moving them again, but not looking at him. 

Draco noticed a small crowd parting, and the whispers were becoming even quieter now, like there was something rather important happening.

“She finally did something with that rat’s nest on top of her head.” Pansy spat out, aiming her dissatisfaction at someone Draco hadn’t even looked up to see; he just saw Pansy staring to her right as she kept them walking. 

Draco followed her eyeline. What he saw left him honestly, quite speechless. 

There, to his right as he walked by her with Pansy, was Hermione Granger. Floating through the small crowd in a bluey-purple coloured dress. He was almost speechless like Pansy as he couldn’t help but take in her smooth, long locks and the smile plastered to her face, which was a lot less toothy than he had remembered. The girl seemed to glow, looking pleased with her little makeover and Draco noted that although she must have gone to a lot of effort, she looked almost ... effortless.

It was a second’s glance, but it was one he knew he would never forget. She didn’t look like Granger, and when She walked closer to him as he crossed her path, the momentary eye contact that she gave him made a surge of strange feelings he had never felt before for her come forth from the pit of his stomach. Fleeting for her, as she narrowed her eyes and dared him to say something, but it would be and everlasting impression for him. He gritted his teeth and batted it down, feeling ridiculous for even looking at her, just because she looked different. It was curiosity ... nothing more.

That was the first time that Draco Malfoy had ever looked at Hermione Granger and realised that she was a girl. A girl with hair and a smile and softer parts. Not just Granger. Not just Mudblood Granger. Hermione Granger.

Krum. What the fuck? Draco saw the crowd part slightly again as he walked through to greet the girl, and she took his arm excitedly as if his presence would somehow make her night complete. What an odd couple, but it took all sorts to make the world go round, he supposed. 

Draco noted that Parvati and a few others were gazing at Granger in unflattering disbelief. She wasn’t the only one either; when the doors to the Great Hall finally opened, Krum’s fan club from the library stalked past, throwing Granger looks of deepest loathing. Pansy was still gaping at her as Granger now walked by them, arm in arm with Krum and the other champions, ready to begin the Ball. As she floated past, looking like her feet weren’t touching the floor, Draco yet again was left wondering why he didn’t seem to be able to find an insult he could throw at her. It left a funny, almost bitter taste in his mouth.

* * *

**25th December 1994**   
**9.00pm**

There was lots of dancing, but Draco liked to stay out of the way in the corner with Crabbe and Goyle. He preferred to people watch instead of participate in the jovial festivities. He just wanted to watch people making fools of themselves on the dancefloor. 

But she kept catching his eye. It was unknowingly, but every time she waltzed around the dancefloor in that bloody dress, or smiled at someone with those new bloody teeth, Draco couldn’t help but watch her. 

He watched the subtle way she moved or the way she would nervously put a curl behind her ear as she spoke to Krum, looking up at him all doe-eyed and innocent. She looked like she hung on his every word, and yet it appeared as if Krum was doing the same with her. 

Draco snorted to himself. What was it about her that Krum found so fascinating, exactly? Yes, admittedly right now she could pass for a decent looking Witch ... all done up and interesting looking. But before tonight? What exactly had Krum seen in her? It certainly couldn’t have been her hair or her teeth ... might have been her eyes, he supposed. Her eyes weren’t bad. 

He watched Granger grab hold of Krum’s arm as she laughed at something funny he had said. Draco watched those eyes light up and it seemed to set off the rest of her features., even her smile. It occurred to Draco that there would never be a time when Hermione Granger would smile like that at him... but he was fine with that, because he didn’t need her to. 

“Look at Granger all over Krum.” Goyle sniggered from Draco’s right. “She’s disgusting.” 

Draco couldn’t quite manage to take his eyes off them both. “Isn’t she just.”

* * *

**25th December 1994**   
**10.30pm**   
  


She drank from a flute with her pinky finger stuck in the air, like she had some sort of bloody superiority over everyone else in the room. She was giggling with her friends and there was some sort of strange blush on her cheeks as she talked, making animated conversation. 

Draco had moved from the back of the room to the side of it now, Pansy clinging to his waist as his right arm was draped around her shoulder. She had tried in vain for half an hour to get him to dance, but she had no chance, Draco Malfoy was not a dancer. 

Granger was dragged by the hand back over to the dancefloor, thoroughly enjoying Krum’s attention and bopping away in time with the music, not a care in the world. She looked like she didn’t have a care in the world, and it irked him. She didn’t deserve to look so happy. She didn’t deserve to be having a better time than him.

“You still fancy that dance, Pans?” he asked the girl stuck to his waist. Draco made to move towards the dancefloor with her, aiming for Granger’s direction... see how much fun she could have while he was there trying to stand on her toes. 

Pansy was far too enthusiastic for his liking, but he went along with it anyway as he planted himself right behind Granger, they were almost back to back. The crowd was big and Draco couldn’t stand it already, but as long as he got Granger riled up, he didn’t care. 

First contact came as one of his elbows connected with the middle of her back. She turned around with a smile, ready to apologise when she realised it was him, her features hardening. Draco smirked as she turned around without saying anything, before stepping back slightly and feeling the back of his heel connect with hers. 

“Ouch!” he heard her protest. “Sod off with your two left feet, Malfoy!” Draco snarled and looked around, her angry face looking at him again. “Keep your body parts to yourself.”

Draco scowled at her. “I could say the same thing about you, Granger...” as he looked pointedly at Krum. “Your public displays of affection are knocking everyone in the room sick.” 

He watched her blush bright red as she caught onto his meaning, before making a face at him and pulling Krum with her to another part of the dancefloor. Yes ... that’ll do. His elbow was still hot from where it had made contact with her back.

“Draco, will you move your body please? We’re supposed to be dancing!” Pansy hissed at him. 

Draco rolled his eyes and looked at her. “I’m done now.” He announced, before walking away and leaving Pansy in the middle of the dancefloor on her own. 

* * *

**25th December 1994**   
**11.00pm**   
  


It was entertaining, really. Watching the three of them arguing with each other brought Draco a strange sense of satisfaction. Granger was firing on all cylinders and all Potter and Weasley could do was dodge her bullets as she rained down on them. Did she always look so positively vicious when she was furious? It suited her.

Vicious...? By that, he surely meant that her temper made people stop and listen? He had been on the receiving end of her temper snapping just once, and he didn’t plan on being in the way of it again. That slap left its mark for a good few hours, and the sting still stayed with him now. 

She looked positively feral. Her hair was a little larger now from all of the dancing she had done with Krum, and as Draco sat at one of the back tables with Crabbe and a few of his other Slytherin comrades, he couldn’t help but notice the slight flush to her cheeks as she sounded off angrily to her friends, spitting venom in Weasley’s direction as she did. 

She was passionate and ballsy when she wanted to get her point across, and Draco could see that now. She had a point of view and was willing to challenge anyone she didn’t agree with, which may have been the reason for so many of their own run-ins. 

Draco watched as she stomped away angrily, looking at her curiously as she passed by his table and as she did so, she caught his eye momentarily, yet again. A sneer that could rival his own scraped across her face as her eyes made contact with his, and the defensive wall of his own sneer fell into place to match hers. 

But even as she broke the contact and kept walking, Draco never took his eyes off of her as she swayed out of the room, her hips moving gracefully as she went by. 

“She’s brilliant when she’s angry...” came Crabbes voice from his side. 

“I don’t know if brilliant is the word to use, mate.” Draco answered. “But she definitely is something...” 

He heard Crabbe snigger. “Go and sort her out then.” 

Draco frowned, being pulled from his thoughts. “What?” 

“Pansy...” Crabbe nodded in her direction. “She’s brilliant, but bloody scary...think she wants you to apologise...” 

That brought Draco right back. He was talking about Pansy ... not Granger. 

“Yeah ...” he finally answered, his eyes fixing on Pansy’s angry ones from across the room. “I might do later if there’s nothing better to do.” 

Draco spotted Weasley looking livid and Potter looking perplexed as they followed their female friend out of the Great Hall. Jesus, she really did have them wrapped around her little finger, didn’t she? The Mudblood must have had great powers of persuasion... but then, the pair of half-wits she was friends with probably couldn’t even think for themselves half the time, so of course they were going to bend to her every whim.

It was a preposterous notion ... bending to the will of a Mudblood.

* * *

**25th December 1994**   
**11.30pm**

Pansy’s hands and mouth were all over him, and he kissed her back almost forcefully. They were hidden away in a little nook in the common room, surrounded by pillows and Draco’s hand was making its way up the frills of the outside of her dress towards her breasts. Yes... Pansy had definitely gotten over their little non-existent tiff.

Bloody fabric. All frills and taffeta ... all the other girls didn’t have dresses so frilly. Even Grangers dress was made of silk ... 

He thought of her then for a second; head back laughing at Krum and holding onto his arm. The flash of memory made him stop his ascent to Pansy’s curves. He could see Granger’s outline and the small of her waist in that dress. The way her body was developing and her cleavage showed off her assets rather well, too. 

And how did she get her hair all smooth and long like she had? It made her look older and not like her usual frizzy-haired self. She really had gone to the effort to make sure that no one could throw an insult in her direction. It was disconcerting... he really tried to find something to make her look less appealing ... he came up blank every time. 

“Draco?” Pansy whispered, looking at him with a frown. He had stopped his petting and she was wondering why. 

He didn’t think ‘Sorry Pans, I was just thinking about Granger’ would cut the mustard. So, he said nothing, and rid the image in his mind with the touch of Pansy’s warm skin on her neck and nibbled it, making her groan. 

The sounds she made were nice; he liked those. He liked making Pansy feel nice, making her feel good with the things he could do to her. Half of the girls at the Yule Ball were probably getting felt up by their partners tonight. 

A flash of internal thought about what Krum was probably doing to Granger appeared in his mind, his train of thought clearly wanting to linger on those pair tonight. A long with the thoughts was the picture of Krum and Granger in the exact position that himself and Pansy were in now ... doing exactly what himself and Pansy were doing. 

Pansy moaned again, grabbing his shoulders as he continued his assault on her neck and palmed her breast through her dress. Somewhere in the Castle, would Krum be getting the same response from Granger? Would she be reacting to him in the same way? Would she have her head thrown back like Pansy? Would Krum be grinding his hips into Grangers to relieve the pressure of his erection just like Draco? Would she be moaning Krum’s name and digging her nails into the Bulgarian’s back to draw him closer? 

“Draco...” he heard his name, but it didn’t sound like it came from Pansy ... it sounded like someone else’s voice. Someone wearing periwinkle.

What the fucking hell was he thinking? He pulled away abruptly and looked down at Pansy. She was watching him, breathing heavily. Draco gave her a slightly apologetic look and pushed himself back so he was completely off her. 

“Sorry Pans... moments gone.” He told her through gritted teeth. Krum and Granger had managed to completely ruined it for him. 

She sat up with him, pulling at her dress and trying to control her breathing. “What stopped you this time?” she asked him with a curious look. “You’ve been off all night ...”

He shrugged. “Just don’t feel like it, that’s all.” 

Pansy huffed. “We’re probably the only couple who aren’t copping a feel of each other right now... I bet even Longbottom is getting some action...” she mused quietly. “And Granger.” She snorted. 

Draco glanced sideways at her. She looked thoughtful.

“She did sort her hair out, though...” Pansy said, more to herself than Draco.

He sat there next to his date, but thinking back to a few hours ago, when he watched Granger walk towards them for the first time at the bottom of the staircase.

“Yeah ... I suppose.” Was all he could say.

* * *

**July 1995** : 

He was back. 

The whole atmosphere at home had changed. Draco tried to ignore it, but he could feel everything starting to alter. His Mother and Father were arguing more than usual, and his Father would go missing for days without question. Draco was half waiting for the day when his Father would displease The Dark Lord and would be made to take him along as some sort of punishment.

_Shit ... think of something else_ ...

It was almost enough to make Draco wonder whether the life of a Death Eater was worth the stress and worry. Was it worth looking over your shoulder every time you went out in public? Did the mark hurt? Did it burn when you were called? What did he make his followers do? His Father had never told him the ins and outs of what being a Death Eater entailed ... but he knew it wasn’t anything very good.

Mostly intimidation, he guessed. The Dark Lord used that tactic to get everything he needed. Now that he was back, he would only grow stronger and gain more followers. His type of dark magic attracted the sort of people who needed a Messiah to follow ... someone to show them down the path of depravity. Like his Father, many years ago ...

He put it all to the back of his mind, along with the idea of what Granger and Potter would be doing now that they knew The Dark Lord had returned.

She needed to watch herself ... 

Not that he cared.

* * *

  
**1995** :  
 **Fifth Year**

“The what?” she almost spat, looking livid.

“The Inquisitorial Squad, Granger.” Draco sneered at her as he proudly showed off his badge. At last, a time had come when he knew about something before she did. “A select group of students who are supportive of the Ministry of Magic, hand-picked by Professor Umbridge.” He watched the look of utter repulsion creep into her features and it made him feel even better. “Anyway, members of the Inquisitorial Squad do have the power to dock points... New Head, new times...” 

He watched her roll her eyes at him. Those large, utterly fucking annoying eyes. The same ones that viewed him with utter contempt. Good... he liked getting that response from her, it gave him immense satisfaction. Anything that put the fire in her eyes and made her look at him like she wanted to kill him gave him immense satisfaction. 

“...so, ten points from Gryffindor for your lack of knowledge, Granger...” and then she looked like she wanted to throttle him. Even better. 

It was their own fault for giving him shit. He had the right to extract points now that Umbridge had given him the power ... now he knew what it felt like to be Potter; to run around the school and lord it over everyone else... like the bloody rules didn’t apply to him.

“You’re an annoying git, Malfoy.” He heard Weasley say from behind him. He didn’t care; Weasley was a nobody, he wasn’t worth getting a reaction out of. Draco had come to find that over the years, it was usually Potter or Granger who have him the greatest satisfaction with their reactions when he was goading them... Granger being the most receptive. 

It was because she was clever with it, he had decided a few months ago when he had taken the piss out of her immensely bushy hair. She had replied with a fact about ancient Greeks finding curly hair to be beautiful and therefore that was why they used to give their statues and paintings unruly curls. Draco could only glare at that reply, not quick enough to think of anything else. 

“Thanks Weasel, but I’m sure your little girlfriend can defend herself enough to insult me.” Draco looked at him pointedly. 

“I am not his girlfriend.” She retorted, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at Draco whilst blushing.

_Oh really? Well ... this was news..._

Draco thought they had been shagging for a while, if he was honest. He always noticed the way Weasley looked at her. He noticed the way they talked so animatedly to each other. Granger talked with her hands around Weasley, like she needed more than words to express her meanings and feelings. Draco always watched her hands... they told him more about her than her words did. Her body language was quite articulate and expressive. 

The more Draco had watched her over the last year, the more he had come to realise how dangerous she was. It wasn’t just her words; it was her mind too. Hermione Granger was a dangerous Mudblood because she had passion. She cared about things and Draco found himself just watching her at times, seeing her fight for what she believed in and always trying to see the good in things... the good in people. 

Never you though ... she’ll never see the good in you.

He didn’t want her to. Didn’t want that kind of ridicule. Draco Malfoy was quite happy with his lot in life, he didn’t need Hermione Granger and her strong-willed ways to try and tell him what a mess he was and that he would eventually end up straying down the wrong path. He would never need that.

“Pity you’ve not got a fella, Granger...” a malicious smile spread across his face as he started to walk away from the group, growing bored with Weasley’s death glares. “A good shag might loosen you up...” 

He didn’t see the expression on her face as his back was to her, but at hearing her gasp he could only imagine that her eyes were black with outrage and she probably wanted to kill him.

He had decided that he liked that about her. 

* * *

**1996:**

**Fifth Year**

Draco glanced to his right and saw her writing furiously. Always scribbling or reciting something that she found important. If she wasn’t doing either of those things then she was reading her text books like a good little girl. 

Goody-toe-shoes. 

Golden Princess of Gryffindor. 

Prissy little Witch. 

He had so many names for her, she made his blood boil and every time he caught himself looking at her it boiled over even more. Just like it had after the Yule Ball ...

No, we don’t think about that. We never think about that. 

Another glance at her; scratching her chin, deep in thought. Always thinking and breaking things down and trying to understand. Always trying to be the best and come up with ways around a problem like she had many ways to fragment an equation. 

Draco frowned. 

Maybe he had been watching her a little too closely. 

* * *

**1996** :

**Fifth Year**

The squad had managed to invade a secret meeting and had brought the guilty party to Professor ‘s office.  
Her body was warm as he had her back pressed against his front as he held her captive. It was only for a minute, but Draco wasn’t expecting the contact to feel so ... warm and soft. 

Hermione Granger was warm and soft, not hard and cold. 

It wasn’t right to put pleasant adjectives with Granger. 

He pushed her away roughly and let Crabbe take hold of her instead.

* * *

  
**July 1996**  
 **Sixth Year:**

It had burned, and now it itched. It felt foreign and invasive and it weighed him down like a stone in a lake. He hadn’t slept properly for weeks and nothing that his Mother or Father had said to him could convince him that everything was going to be okay. Because it wouldn’t. 

Lucius had begged. Not Draco ... not his son. His Mother had wept... not her only child, not her boy. But The Dark Lord wouldn’t hear of it. Apparently, the only way for Lucius to pay for his mistake was for Draco to take centre stage in a plot that really had nothing to do with him.

It filled him with bile. Being embroiled into a tale in which he was just a pawn to he used to meet somebody else’s own ends did not sit well with him. This was between Potter and The Dark Lord, so why did anyone else need to get involved? Draco decided that he was collateral damage, and either way he looked at it the outcome for himself was never going to go in his favour. 

His Mother could sense his anticipation and fear. After learning what The Dark Lord had in store for him, she almost had a nervous breakdown. In her haste to make sure that her son was safe, Narcissa had made an unbreakable vow with his Godfather, Severus. She wanted to protect her son at all costs, and she knew that if he couldn’t finish the job, then Severus would. 

Fucking Severus ... he’d be tailgating Draco at every opportunity now. He just wanted to be left alone. He had an idea ... a good idea on where to start ... he just needed the space and time to try and see it through. 

Unless Potter and his cronies got in there first and ended The Dark Lord before Draco had to kill Dumbledore... he knew Granger had the brains to make that happen if she put her mind to it. Maybe then, Draco wouldn’t have to go through this nightmare. 

In his sheer desperation, he half-hoped that it would come true, and Granger would use her brains and come to his rescue... if anything, to save him from himself.

* * *

**September 1996:**

Draco looked at the parchment and frowned. He’d been doing this on and off for a few months now, deciding that his little hobby quite entertained it ... but ... there was something about this one ...

It was good, but ... there was something familiar about it and he just couldn’t –

His eyes widened as he looked from the parchment and then up to his right, across the Arithmancy classroom and over to her. 

Yes ... he had sketched the curly hair down to a T. It was unmistakeable. Everything he had drawn was starting to look more and more like her these days, regardless of how it started out.

He scowled and bunched up the parchment into his fist. 

* * *

  
**October 1996:**

Well, his first attempt with the necklace didn’t go very fucking well. Apart from almost cursing half of the students, Severus had also berated him and told him that he would he watching him more closely in future. Draco really didn’t need that, he despised people keeping tabs on him. He knew he would need to try better next time and that his attempt was sloppy, but he was agitated and fully aware that he was running out of time.

He needed to find a way of killing Dumbledore that didn’t include up-close combat. If he could manage that then he wouldn’t need to find a way of making the cabinets work ... then the castle wouldn’t need to be invaded and people might not be harmed ... 

Draco knew exactly who he meant by people, but he shoved the image out of his mind. 

He needed more time. More time to work the cabinets and more time to figure out his own thoughts and exercise his own demons. Sleep did not come naturally lately, and when it did it was full of nightmares of his Mother and Father screaming for help; something Draco could not live with. 

He just needed more time. More time and people would be safe. 

That same image that he shoved out of his mind of bushy; brown hair flickered through it once again.

* * *

**November 1996**   
  


She looked so enthralled, her eyes flicking through the text within the book so quickly that Draco thought she might be speed reading. She was so engrossed that she hadn’t even noticed him viewing her. 

He sat three tables away from her in the Library, his books slew around him carelessly as he researched old spells ... anything that would help him. But the entire time he could only half-concentrated as he used the rest of the time to steal glances at Granger, trying to figure out if she was enjoying what she was reading, or whether she was reading for pleasure or purpose. 

She pulled her hair to one side of her neck and stretched herself out as she read, and Draco could not help the involuntary little images that shot through his mind, wondering if she got enough sleep... if she ate right ... what did she worry about? What colour underwear she might have on ....

He didn’t even stop those thoughts anymore because they came to him so often and so frequently. They were fleeting at first, and he felt disgusted with himself ... but now he just let them all. After all, who was going to find out and his tiny little fixation with a girl he wasn’t allowed to have? If anything, it just helped to distract him if he was having a particularly bad day.

She just helped him...be.

* * *

**20th December 1996**   
  


  
The wine was dropped off successfully at that stupid ‘Slug Club’ Christmas party, no one even realising he had placed it there. But Severus was being a narky bastard. Telling Draco he could help and that he didn’t understand the importance of the situation he was in. A load of bullshit, because Draco was well aware that he was up to his fucking neck in it. 

If he wasn’t studying or skipping classes then he was fixing that fucking cabinet. And if he wasn’t doing either of those things then he was trying to be as unstealthy as possible when it came to Potter. He knew the tit was tailing him; watching him. Draco wanted him to. The sooner the lad figured out what Draco was up to the better, because then he could run and tell Dumbledore and then Dumbledore could thwart The Dark Lord’s plans at the last second and –

No. There was no use in hoping for that, because Potter wasn’t that fucking clever. Granger didn’t believe that Draco had taken the mark, which meant that she was offering Potter no help when it came to Draco. 

He admired and pitied her at the same time for that. Admiration for the fact that she thought he had the ability to not be that evil. But the pity came from the fact that she thought he might have redeemable qualities ... because he didn’t.

Draco had caught a glimpse of her as he was escorted outside of Slughorn’s little party. She wore pale blue and it suited her. 

McLaggen had his hands firmly around her waist.

That didn’t suit her. It made Draco’s hands itch. 

* * *

**January 1997**   
  


They were getting more and more defined; the light and dark shades were mixing together well and Draco had found that although he had always liked drawing, lately it brought him comfort and peace. Especially when he could sit there during class and sketch her freely. 

Always candid, like he was drawing her off guard. He liked her like that; when she thought no one was looking and she let her guard down. Her quirks would come out; like how she would purse her lips if she wasn’t sure of an answer or she would itch her nose if she was deep in thought and close to figuring it all out. 

Draco knew it was wrong, but he just found her so weirdly fascinating. She took his mind of things momentarily, like she was the part—time interval at the shit-show that he called his life. She was the light relief that he could fixate on because she made him feel better for a little while.

He’d sketched her while she was staring straight ahead her quill in her mouth. And those eyes shone through the page. They always shone through the page; they were her best feature.

He had about five of those ones ... those were his favourite ones of her. 

She looked so interesting.

* * *

**1st March 1997**   
  


  
Ron fucking Weasley, the stupid cunt. 

Drinking the wine and putting himself in hospital. Now Severus really was breathing down his neck. He was growing frustrated with the cupboards as they wouldn’t connect, and he didn’t know how to make them. Potter was no closer to intercepting him either. He would make a shit detective. 

No more necklaces or poisoned wine ... it was too risky. He would just need to put in more effort and spend more time on the cabinet. 

It was his only hope. If he failed at that, he would be dead.

* * *

**April 1997**   
  


It was that one, single thought.

That one singular second of knowing that the images in his mind were really not the images he should have been picturing. 

That one image is what got him off, when he finally gave in and let it flash in front of him. That one image that would be forever burned into his mind. That one image that was so bad, but looked so good.

He tried not to use it, of course. Kept it buried down deep, hidden in the crevices of his mind. It was only when he needed something decidedly wicked that he would pluck it out and use it. Just that one small moment that he never should have been privy to.

It always appeared when he was right on the edge ... when the other parts of his imagination needed to push him right over that delightful, orgasmic Cliff. He tried to fight it, but more often than not it came to him and when it did ... 

_Fucking stars._

His self-pleasure started off like it always did. Tired of conversation, socialisation and anything else that warranted being around people. He wasn’t a people person. He’d never been a people person. He kept to the dark and the shadows these days, never really mingling with anyone.

He liked it that way. 

It gave him time to just ... be. 

Be himself with his sulk and his scowl and his swagger without needing to explain himself to anyone. No one to tell him to get over himself. They could all get fucked, for all he cared. 

In the privacy of his four-poster he could let himself go. Unseen, unheard and brazen in the knowledge that his carnal lust these days was like a double-edged sword. Liable to hurt not just himself but the unwilling object of his current fantasies, too. 

And that was why he thanked fuck that no one would ever be able to take a glance into his depraved thoughts. They’d send him off to St Mungo’s for sure. Because the things he wanted to do to her ...

His grip tightened at just the thought of it ...

_No ... no, think of something else for now ... you know how this goes ..._

And he did. 

He knew that he couldn’t let himself open that little fantasy until he was right on the edge of orgasm. Any sooner and he’d disgust himself with the betrayal of his own thoughts and put himself off wanking altogether.

So instead, he started with the simple ones ... memories of Pansy’s mouth sucking him off in the broom cupboard in 5th year ...

_Better ...._

.... memories of Daphne drunkenly lap dancing for him as a dare during a game in the Slytherin Common room...

_What a fucking view that was ..._

...memories of the way Jemima Pewitt unbuttoned her shirt for him and flashed him those glorious tits of hers ...

_That’ll do ...._

His fist started to work faster and his breath hitched as his remembered what it was like to touch those warm, firm globes. 

Images of school girls in short, short skirts appeared in his mind’s eye as his hand now worked furiously over his cock, needing the relief of it all to wash over him. He always needed this at the end of a stressful day of ... well ... 

Trying not to think of her...

He tried. He really fucking did. But she was everywhere. He swore even now, inside the safety of his drapes and the quietness that surrounded him that he could hear her voice. Her fucking annoying stupid fucking voice. 

His fist pumped hard and angry now as his imagination changed tactics. He could see her and hear her and smell her. The way her smile met her eyes when she was with her friends, the way her long curls always wafted a smell of Jasmine his way ... the way her thigh flashed at him that day in potions.

He bit his lip and screwed his face up.

_No. Not yet._

He wasn’t there yet. This was only supposed to happen right at the end ... not in the middle of the whole fucking thing. 

His imagination didn’t care. That was all it had taken, since that day. That brief bit of toned, olive-skinned thigh peeking out at him from her skirt that had lifted up while she was preoccupied with her potions task. She hadn’t noticed. 

But he had. 

He’d seen it in all its glory. Only a few seconds at the most but fuck ... he had seen everything he had to for the cogs to start turning in his head. Start wondering about the rest of her ... if the rest of her was as sun kissed and toned. 

He had disgusted himself obviously, forbid himself from ever thinking about her again in that way. It was never something his brain should have even thought of. But now ... it was pretty much all his brain thought about. 

About those few seconds. About a bit of toned, olive thigh that had turned slowly turned him into imagining something else a little further up between her parted ones ...

_Fuck_ ...

His hand was working himself so furiously now, his imagination working in overdrive as he reluctantly let in the image of her sat there in that same potions class. She was facing him now whilst sat on that potions stool ... biting her lip and looking right at him .... that skirt still flashing that thigh ...

_Don’t ... not yet ..._

She parted her legs slowly, looking at him through hooded eyes and one of her hands reached behind her head to bring her long mane of light brown ringlets to one side of her head. Her lips were parted, looking at him like she was thoroughly enjoying what she was seeing. 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck ... that’s it –_

He watched as the other free hand she had at her side rose up slowly until it was pulling that skirt up higher, so slowly ... a small smile appearing on her face as she knew he could see a flash of white knickers –

“Fuuuuuck...” his breathing was ragged and his cock exploded as he came into his hand, his hips rocking into it as he lay there on his sheets ... coming back down to Earth. 

He groaned again. 

He never got further than the knickers. Never allowed himself to because if he did then he was fucking lost.

It was getting longer. It wasn’t that last second anymore ... she was slowly becoming part of the whole fantasy. Her and her fucking hair and her fucking smile and her thighs. She wasn’t just toppling him over the edge anymore in that last second. 

She was there before the final push. 

“For fuck sake ...” 

Hermione fucking Granger. The dirtiest, darkest fantasy he had ever had.

* * *

  
**May 1997**

Harry Potter was a cunt. He was a boy who took advantage of people when they were most vulnerable and attacked them.

Granted, Draco had gone for him first; but only because he was absolutely consumed by his own emotions and lack of control that he had lashed out in a moment of haste. And Draco fucking hated being made to feel like he was inferior. 

Inferior was how he felt as he lay in the Hospital wing, trying to cope with the embarrassment of not being able to best Potter and also the strain of still not making those cabinets connect. Something hadn’t clicked ... there was a missing link. And now Potter had given him even less time. 

He had heard on the grapevine though that Granger had been really angry with the bastard and had shouted at him in front of everyone for duelling with Draco. 

He wouldn’t admit it, but the thought made his heart clench slightly at the idea of Hermione Granger’s concern for him. 

Even if it was due to her friends’ mission to fuck his life up. He would still take it.

* * *

**June 1997**   
  


He saw her looking over at him from her Gryffindor table. It was fleeting, but the expression she held told him all that he needed to know. 

She felt sorry.   
It wasn’t pity. It was something more and he knew that she knew that there was something going on with him. She wouldn’t put her finger on what it was, but there was definitely something. 

Draco raised his eyebrows at her and she looked away as quickly as she had looked at him. That was the first contact they had had in a long time. Draco didn’t even goad her anymore; never sure how to go about it without making it almost sexual ... he had had too many dreams and fantasies starring her now to ever go back to it being anything other than sexual. 

All that tension over the years had manifested itself into something else now, and he had denied it at first but now it burned him. They had so much chemistry that it caused a chemical reaction and he knew that it would pour out of him if he let it. 

He had recalled it a little over two months ago; sat there sketching as usual. Only this time, he recognised that he had added the little details to her facial features that he had never quite taken in before. Like the small scatter of the freckles on her nose or the little smile on the corner of her lips. How long her eye lashes were and how pretty she looked when she was pouting. 

He knew then that he had it bad for a girl that he could never have. This wasn’t just wanking himself off to a sexual fantasy ... his thoughts were materialising a girl and feeling possessive over who she talked to and where she was and whether she was safe or not. Draco always obsessed over whether she was safe. And she would never know.

It wasn’t right and he knew it, but he couldn’t stop it. 

He just couldn’t bring himself to stop. 

* * *

**30th June 1997**   
  


  
In part, he had successfully failed.

Successful in the sense that the vanishing cabinets had eventually worked. He felt a great weight being lifted and finally felt able to breathe again. 

But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill Dumbledore, and Severus had to step in for him. 

It was like time had stood still as his wand had the old man marked up. All he had to do was utter the spell and it would all be over. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. As he looked into the old man’s eyes, all manner of things had popped into his mind.

Where the fuck was Potter to stop this and save the day?

What would people think if they found out that he had killed Dumbledore?

What would Granger think? ... 

He felt his wand lower a fraction at the thought. Granger would detest him forever if he went through with it. It would be unforgiveable and there would be nothing that would redeem him in her eyes. Did he want that? He never used to care what she thought, but he did now. Apart from his mission, Hermione Granger was the only other thing he ever thought about and the idea of her hating him so much did not settle too well with him at all. 

There was a scuffle and Severus turned up, a few Death eaters in tow as Draco’s Aunt Bella shouted for Draco to kill the old man. He still couldn’t and he knew he wouldn’t. 

Thank fuck for Severus Snape. Doing Draco’s dirty work ... covering his tracks. But he knew that after this, life would never be the same.

Dumbledore was dead. And now all hell would break fucking loose.

* * *

  
**1st September 1997**

The school was on the brink of collapse. There were students in full support of the The Dark Lord, and students fighting secretly for the other side. As Draco stood on the platform, his sneer firmly in place, he glanced around ... he was looking for curls. 

He knew she wouldn’t be there, and neither would Potter or Weasley. They were probably off on some secret mission to bring down The Dark Lord. Draco momentarily wished them well... if they were successful then it would make Draco’s life a lot fucking easier. His Father wouldn’t be an anxious wreck and his Mother would actually be able to let go of the leash she had had Draco on over the Summer. 

What a depressing Summer had endured, too. The Dark Lord had practically taken up residence at his home, making the atmosphere almost unbearable. Draco had luckily spent most of the time in his room, blocking the world out and concentrating on his drawings ... an outlet of peace in an otherwise insane and fucked up world.

Draco boarded the train; giving a small hug and a wave to his Mother and promising to keep his head down this year. And if he was lucky, he might overhear some news on how the insufferable trio were doing. 

Might hear whether she was still alive. 

He almost hoped a little too much. 

* * *

**15th March 1998**   
**5.30pm**   
  


Draco could Scarcely look. There was so much pressure from both sides; they both had reasons for needing his answer and his made him want to be sick. 

“Just look, Draco ... is it him or not? Is it Harry Potter?” His Aunt Bellatrix was positively salivating, needing it to be true. Needing the glory in giving Potter over to The Dark Lord like a lamb to the slaughter. 

Potter was looking directly at him. If he told the truth, then his family would be free of this ... they would be able to live their lives peacefully in the honours that The Dark Lord would bestow upon them. But if he lied ... if he denied knowing Potter, then they had a chance of making it ... they had a chance of winning. 

And she would be safe. 

Draco drew a breath. “I ... I can’t be sure...” 

He had made up his mind. He knew which side he was on if he had to choose again.

His Father wanted an answer, practically begging Draco to tell Bella who it was. But Draco couldn’t do it ... he was selfish in that moment, and chose the possible safety of a Muggleborn over his own family. Something he never thought he would ever do. He swallowed thickly before chancing s glance at her; standing there being held captive by a greasy looking snatcher. It made his blood boil slightly. She didn’t deserve that. 

Draco heard his Aunt starting to shriek, losing her temper. If Draco could just get Granger down into the dungeons safely then he might be able to figure out – 

“Take them!” Bellatrix screamed as she pointed at Potter and Weasley. “This one stays with me...” her calloused fingers coiled around Granger’s chin and Draco’s blood ran cold ... it was too late; he had run out of time. 

* * *

  
**15th March 1998**   
**8.00pm**   
  


The screams had been unmerciful. Every single one had caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. Draco couldn’t cope with any of it; he had to look away. He honestly felt like part of his soul was being ripped from his body, with each blood curdling scream that she gave. 

She was so strong. Much stronger than him. Willing to keep her secrets so that she didn’t betray the people she loved. Draco could never be like her ... he could never be so selfless. He almost screamed himself once or twice; beg it to stop... make it all stop. 

He just wanted to help her. He wanted to protect her. 

He couldn’t save her, and it killed him inside. 

* * *

**2nd May 1998**   
  


It was over. The Dark Lord was triumphant. Potter was dead, and with his passing he had taken all hope with him. 

They were living in a different world now. A dark, dirty and deceitful world that would suck the lives out of everyone and everything. Draco had already prepared for it, but he felt sorry for those who were yet to feel it ... they were the ones that would struggle the most. 

Draco looked around The Great Hall; Death Eaters burning bodies all around him. He hadn’t spotted her yet ... maybe she had escaped? Draco already knew The Order would regroup until they were strong enough. He just hoped that wherever she was, that she was safe. 

She needed to be safe. 

He needed her to be safe. 

He needed her. 

* * *

Second part of Draco's Past POV to be continued ....


	10. 2000 - 2006 (present day)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this chapter being late!
> 
> Took a lot out of me!! 
> 
> Last part of Draco's POV - no smut, just snippets of passings in time 
> 
> Xx

* * *

**13th May 2000**

She was healing. To be absolutely fair to the girl, she seemed good at it. 

At times, Draco almost wanted to harm himself intentionally so he could earn himself a trip to St Mungo’s, just to be nearer to her. But he never... he never got closer to her than one hundred meters away, and even then, he was mostly in shadow. 

He’d started collecting newspaper clippings about a year ago. He told himself it was for research purposes; if he could trace and keep track of the Golden Girl of Gryffindor, then he would stay in The Dark Lord’s good books. But those clippings ended up going into the leather suitcase he hid away under his bed; he had a small collection; on top of his drawings and the poetry pages he had ripped out of books over the years.

He told himself it wasn’t an obsession. It was a coping mechanism. It was something that he noticed he did when he felt under immense pressure; almost a-kin to a person self-harming ... he chose something to relieve the build-up of tension and rage inside of himself. He chose the only thing he knew that would make him feel good.

He chose Hermione Granger. 

* * *

**31st October 2000**

Frontline battles made her cry. He could see her shaking; her hands working harder than ever to tend to the wounded as her eyes brimmed with tears. She worked immensely hard under pressure, but Draco always got the sense that she feared every second of her being there, like she couldn’t wait for the moment when she was no longer needed and could get away. 

She never caught a glimpse of him, except that one time a stunning spell was sent in her direction during an attack in the middle of Holywell; a small Town in the Middle of Wales. Apparently known as an Order nest, Draco and a few others were sent to raid the area and kill anyone who got in their way. 

Granger knew the spell had been deflected from her, as her scream died down and she found that no harm had come to her. He remembered her looking in his direction, her eyes squinting at him in the darkness. He knew she felt the need to say thank you, because it was in her nature... but she had no idea who or what she was saying thank you for. Instead, he saw her turn and scramble away. 

That was the closest he had gotten to her for a long time. He could see the twists of her curls and the brights of her eyes as she peered at him curiously through his Death Eater mask; like she knew it was him. 

Part of him hoped she did. Part of him wanted her to be able to see the man beneath the monster. 

* * *

  
**25th December 2000**

She had found the Medi-bag.

It was stupid, and he knew he was risking his life for this ... but she needed something to put her medical tools and potions in, other than that bloody bag she carried around with her. He sensed her anxiety as she opened the front door of the cottage; The Order’s third hiding place of the month since they had discovered a Mole within their ranks who had been passing on information to Dolohov in return for money. 

Granger’s hair blew in the chilly Winter wind as he watched her bend down on the step of the cottage and pick her parcel up. He watched her from the shadows as she looked around her curiously, looking for someone who might have been kind enough to gift her. Draco watched her as she studied the wrapped present, before opening the cottage door and carrying the gift inside.   
He hoped she liked it. He hoped she used it everywhere she went and that she felt like someone was looking after her when she opened it. He hoped she felt comforted by the notion that she was being thought about. 

Hermione Granger was forever looking after other people. He just wanted to return the favour. Because did anyone ever really look after her? Did she ever have anyone at night to lean on and tell her problems to? Did Weasley understand her when she broke down crying over the pressure of having a split second to save a life? He assumed not ... Weasley lacked that kind of intelligence.

Draco liked that she looked after people. He liked that she felt the passion and devotion to make people feel special and cared for. 

As Draco walked into the trees, he took one last glance at cottage. He only wished that he could return that same feeling to her one day.

* * *

**12th April 2001**

Vivid fantasies all welded into one about her. Always imagining what she would taste like and how she would feel ... if he kissed her would she kiss him back softly? Would her body have soft curves or hard edges? ... would she like it rough or gentle ... 

Hermione Granger was probably a gentle lover. Probably used to a man taking his time and worshipping her body. Probably used to rose petals on the bed and the missionary position at least twice a week ... an orgasm every third Sunday of the month if she was lucky.

Draco was none of those things. Pansy had told him back in 6th Year that she thought he had done damage to her internal organs ... something he had prided himself on and told all of his friends. He wasn’t trying to impress the girl, he just liked it rough. And when his hand closed around a girl’s throat and her legs were hiked up around his waist, he felt a sense of control that he desperately needed. 

It was even better in a dark room. In a dark room, Draco could manifest the images of a curly haired girl with a petite frame; imagine it was her neck he had hold of and it was her cunt he was pounding into ... it was her screams of pleasure he was hearing. He just needed to hear her say his name. He needed to know that it was him and only him who could give her such immense pleasure. He needed to know what she wanted him as much as he wanted her... how he craved her so passionately. 

No; she would never feel that for him. And she would never know the way he burned for her, because in her eyes he was just another Death Eater ... the lowest of the low. 

* * *

  
**19th June 2001**

It became a ritual. Find and seek her out. If The Order moved on then Draco would track and trace them ... he always had to watch her; keep her. He needed to know she was okay, that she was safe. Draco hadn’t seen her on the battlefield for a while, wondering if the powers from above had seen sense and realised it was unsafe to have one part of the Golden trio out there for all to see. There was only two of them left now, and Draco sensed that they were both living on borrowed time ... plans were being put into place. 

The thought of Granger being threatened made him feel uneasy. 

* * *

**1st July 2001**

He caught a glimpse of her using the medi-bag one night during a raid in Devon.

It made him smile.

* * *

**14th August 2001**

She looked devastated. He knew they were no longer together as the Daily Prophet had attested to that, but he knew that she would be truly gutted all the same. Draco watched her from afar as she stumbled through marshlands on the outskirts of a little town in Yorkshire. Her breathing was hitched and he could sense that her heart ached. 

Ron Weasley had disappeared. Captured during a raid in Gloustershire; assumed dead. Draco honestly didn’t know whether the fella was dead or alive, but in that moment, he saw the hurt on Granger’s face and wanted nothing more than to comfort her; tell her everything would be okay. That they were both two ends of the same sword, fighting for something that neither should have got involved with.

Draco watched as she fell to her knees and sobbed. Deep, gut wrenching cries that made Draco’s heart splinter. And he did not deserve to see this ... he didn’t deserve to see her weakness and he didn’t deserve to see her vulnerability. He deserved nothing from her, and yet he felt like she deserved everything from him. 

She was Hermione Granger. Broken by a war that she did not deserve to be a part of. 

Draco pulled his cloak around himself as he watched her tears fall. And he promised himself silently that one day, he would be there to stop them.

* * *

**15th August 2001**

  
“The Dark Lord wants you to track her, Draco.” His Father told him casually as he picked up his tea cup. “I feel she holds important information that The Dark Lord wants to get hold of.” 

Draco paled. 

The worst possible news he could have been given. If Hermione Granger was a threat then she truly was living on borrowed time. 

Draco couldn’t have that. He was a desperate man when it came to her; the idea of her being used for someone else’s gain made him feel sick. He would need to think fast, if he stood any chance of protecting her against all of this.

“Keep a close eye on her ... I feel our Lord is wanting to know the whereabouts of the next raid...” Lucius sounded serious and business-like. “Please be sensible about this, Draco...”

Silence passed between them; Draco knew what his Father meant. Draco knew what his Father was implying and it made the walls close in on him further. His dark obsession had not gone un-noticed.

“As The Dark Lord wishes, Father.” Draco replied in an emotionless voice from behind his paper. His eyes were trained on a curly haired girl with big brown eyes staring back at him, with the headline of ‘Where is Hermione Granger?’. 

Draco suddenly found himself wishing that he didn’t know. 

* * *

**1st September 2001**

Draco watched her from the top window, a white bath towel wrapped around her from her Breasts down, and her long curly hair all wet and dangling down over one of her shoulders. Fuck, she was an image, and Draco couldn’t help the ideas that filtered in through his mind. 

What kind of moans would she make? Small and guttural or loud and expressive? Would she arch her back and bite her lip when she came? Would her toes curl? What would she do if he bit her neck? Would she scream his name as her walls clenched around his cock?

Fuck, he wanted her ... had wanted her for so fucking long. The women he had now were used to his harsh ways; the only way that he knew how to show affection. It was ingrained into him ... he didn’t do tender; he didn’t know how. Rough and ready kept women at arm’s length; stopped them from getting ideas that they would be the next Mrs Malfoy. 

Fuck that. 

Draco shook away the thought and realised he had lost track of her again from the window. But at least he knew she was there ... still ticking ... still alive... 

He could cope because of that. 

* * *

**3rd September 2001**

“Where is she, Draco?” 

He closed his eyes momentarily. Willing the thoughts away. He was skilled in Occlumency; but hopefully he wouldn’t need to use it. He took a few deep breaths ... now or never... 

“-I fear she has information in her mind that is much too dangerous to be kept...” Draco wanted to shudder; that raspy, serpent-like tone did things to his insides. “We need her to disappear...” 

Draco nodded hesitantly. He knew what Lord Voldemort meant ... he wanted her dead. 

One shot ... you have one shot ... “I could get close enough to obliviate her mind-“ Draco heard a sharp intake of breath from his left-hand side. His Father was not happy with that offer. 

“It makes for a far better advert to kill the Mudblood ... show no mercy... no weakness...” 

Draco didn’t look up at him, but he knew Lord Voldemort was pacing.

“Draco will get the job done, my Lord.” ... his Father was an unfeeling man at times.

“Let the boy speak!” Draco’s Father had displeased him. “...Draco?”

He kept his eyes closes and kept his heartbeat as slow as he could. He felt the sweat bead on his forehead at the thought of what he was about to do... he was going to choose. 

“They were last seen two nights ago in an abandoned Cottage on the outskirts of Chester, My Lord.” His throat went dry. 

“And you saw the girl there?”

Draco waited a beat. “Yes.” 

  
There was a flurry of movement behind them as Death Eater took off, apparating to around the location that Draco had sent them. 

A false location that Draco had chosen to give. 

Because Draco had chosen Hermione Granger. 

* * *

**5th September 2001**

Draco sank to his knees, head in his hands. Deathly silence engulfed him all around and he dared not to open his eyes ... if he did, then this was all real. 

“You displease me, Draco ... I thought Lucius had taught you better than this.” The hiss of his voice made Draco quiver; he almost begged there and then like the weak -willed man that he was to let him take it all back. 

But he couldn’t. There was no going back, and now his Mother and Father were casualties of a War that would lead to nothing but a bloody triumph for either party. His Mother ... he would never forget the image of his mother ...

He let out a sob, not even realising it had escaped his throat until he heard titters of laughter behind him. It made him want to cry more. Cry for his Mother and his Father and the situation. Cry for his loss and his pain and the guilt of knowing that he had done this to them; had them killed all because he was unwilling to let go of his infatuation with a girl who didn’t even fucking like him. A girl that would probably celebrate the death of his parents once she had heard what had happened to them. 

It was in that moment that Draco hardened a little. All of the fluffy feelings he had ever felt about the girl were too painful to think about ... _twist it ... break it ... turn it into something else... break her like she’s broken you from the inside out... she deserves it ... look what she made you do ..._

Draco Malfoy had effectively killed his family for Hermione Granger. 

Draco would have to live with that for the rest of his life; and he didn’t quite know how. What was right and what was wrong anymore? Who was good and who was evil? Hermione Granger had forced him into making a choice without even realising it ... was that evil? Or was there just good in him all along? 

As Draco was hoisted to his feet and pushed out of The Dark Lord’s presence within The Great Hall of Hogwarts, Draco realised that now he no longer had to pick a side ... he would pick his own side; somewhere that lay in the middle for the memory of his parents and for the approval of a Gryffindor who didn’t know it yet, but he would find a way into her life... by force, if necessary.

* * *

  
**16th November 2001**

Draco saw the internal struggle of both of his Parents. His Mother and Father were proud people and would scarcely admit when mistakes were made. But he knew that when it came to the side they had chosen, then if they could have taken it back then they would have. He saw the conflict behind his Mother’s eyes whenever his Father or himself were taken away on a mission... he saw the clench of his Father’s jaw whenever he was asked to dispose of a Ministry official in the most inhuman way. 

Draco had thought of them fondly over the past few months, but his heart clenched in his chest whenever the vision of their lifeless bodies flashed in his mind. They were dead because of him... because of his choice ... because of Hermione Granger. 

Draco’s eyes darkened as they often did now at the thought of her. The thought of her brought instant guilt now, still tinged with the emotions of lust and need ... dangerous combinations that were starting to mingle together to create a dangerous feeling that rose within his chest. Draco was feeling conflicted and in a constant battle with himself. He just needed for this to all be over ... he needed it to stop. 

But it wouldn’t. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t stop her seeping in and assaulting his senses. He was consumed by her in the worst way. 

“Are you sure you want to do this, Mr Malfoy?” Mr Chadwick; a Ministry solicitor asked him over his rectangular glasses. “Once you sign, it is all final ... no going back.”

Draco nodded and picked up the quill, signing upon the dotted line. “No need to go back, Francis.” Draco told the older man darkly. “I’m not heading that way.” 

The older man nodded. “Very well, consider Malfoy Manor as good as sold.” He reached out to shake Draco’s hand. “As soon as the sale has been completed, the money shall be deposited into your Gringotts account.” 

Draco had no regrets, instantly feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. None of Lord Voldemort’s followers could bring themselves to his new house uninvited. No one would know where he was living unless he told them himself. 

As Draco walked out of the office, he brought a brochure out of the robes of his pocket. He looked at the picture on the front and gave a half smirk. 

The University of Bath... somewhere Draco had considered escaping to on many occasions over the last few years. Leaving everything behind and going into hiding within the Muggle world. Something he was sure that his Mother and Father would have done in the beginning if they had made the choice... run away from it all. 

Draco needed somewhere that he could hide and yet go back easily into the Wizarding world when he needed to. He needed somewhere that could hold respite for him and let him lead a quiet life amongst the ruins of his old one. 

Bath. 

Maybe the place was worth a proper look. 

* * *

**15th December 2002**

She came here every Sunday. 

Draco knew that because he liked to listen in to her conversations from time to time. A spurt of laughter here; a groan of exasperation there ... she was expressive. Draco couldn’t remember a time when he had last heard anyone laugh ... or laugh himself. Laughter was reserved for people who had something to be happy about. And this was, apparently, Hermione Granger’s happy place. 

She was walking along arm in arm with Ginny Weasley. The brambles were high and the wind was chilly that morning, but Draco didn’t feel it. He didn’t feel much anymore. He only knew the weather was cold because of the bobble hats the girls were wearing. 

The Forest of Dean in Gloucester was almost magical. A place you could get lost and bury your troubles. Draco had been here many times as a child, able to fly his broomstick without being seen. How odd he found it that both himself and Granger thought of the same place as somewhere that brought them both happy memories.

Just another thing to bind them together ... 

No; he had to stop doing that. As soon as his heart leapt at the thought of her, the feeling of guilt and self loathing appeared in his stomach, weighing him down. He kept thinking it was her fault for making him make those choices... for fucking his head up and causing him to go against the grain. 

Hermione Granger had turned him inside fucking out and she didn’t even know it. And now, whenever he thought about the memory of his parents, he was brought down in guilt for what he did to them over a girl who fucking hated him. 

He hated himself, for everything that he was and everything that he thought he could try to be. To be a better man? All for a girl? Was he really that desperate? Did his possession for her really run that deep? 

He looked down the little brew as he watched her from behind trees and shadows as she walked; never knowing the place that she had in his life. Never knowing the things he had done for her; would continue to do for her to keep her safe. 

His possession ran much deeper than he thought. 

* * *

  
**25th December 2002**

It was only a book and a bookmark. 

Granger read a lot. Draco always noted that whatever safe house she went to, he would always find her near a window, reading a book. Any book would do, it seemed. She wasn’t fussy on Author’s or titles, as long as the book transported her into another world. 

Much the same as last year, Draco had left the gift on the front step, only this time it was outside of a little converted stone mill in Eccles. A beautiful structure, not unlike that of the surroundings of his new flat in Bath. It suited her ... she suited the environment. 

He watched as she looked around, much like she had done last year. He saw her hesitantly bending down to pick up her package, peering around again into the darkness as she did. 

“Thank you.” She called out, hoping that someone would hear her acceptance. “And thank you for my Medi-bag last year ... I loved it.” She waited a beat. “Merry Christmas.” 

Draco so desperately wanted to shout back to her. Tell her she was welcome and that she deserved so much more ... but he kept quiet. Shrouded in darkness and unforgiveable actions. He could never allow her to know; she would still hate him for it. 

“Your welcome, Granger...” he whispered into the misty air as he watched her walk back into the Mill. “...Merry Christmas...”  
  


* * *

**26th June 2003**

Draco went off the grid for a few months. Almost in hiding as he went about fixing up and renovating his flat. He had brought nothing from his parents’ manner except his clothes, a few heirlooms and a small box of his personal items... drawings and newspaper clippings amongst them. 

He saw only Theo and Pansy every now and again for a long time; preferring the peace and quiet of his own company and feeling himself caving inwards, craving the loneliness as it made his guilt feel less. Why should he be allowed to get on with his life when he effectively ended the lives of his parents? 

He knew it was not a rational way of thinking. He knew that the thoughts in his own head were against him ... but he couldn’t help it, and every time he thought of her he thought of them and the emotions got so tangled together that he couldn’t work out whether he hated her or himself for everything. 

The drawings had been thrown against the wall in anger along with the rest of the contents of the box, at first. Draco let them flutter to the floor with the means to trample on them and leave them defiled... but he just couldn’t do it. The thought of her face beneath his foot brought a twang of pain to his chest, and he couldn’t bring himself to stamp all over her. 

She had done it to him, and hadn’t even realised it. Caused deep, mental scars that he would never get rid of ... but he needed that. He needed to be reminded of what he was and what he had done, all for her. She was his darkness and his light and she would never know it. Never feel it like he did. 

He started on the right side of the wall; sticking the drawings and the newspaper clippings up there ... watching them float up as he admired her smile ... admired the way his drawings captured the rarity of her. This would not be a permanent fixture; it was just for now... it gave him something to focus on when things got too much for him. Something for him to look at when he remembered the good things and wanted to break down over the bad things.

He could keep her here, in this room. He could keep a part of her here for himself ... like a crutch that he might need to lean on sometimes.

She could be that for him. His crutch. 

* * *

  
**2nd May 2004**

Pansy and Theo’s visits started to dwindle over time. 

Pansy observed that she couldn’t take his manhandling of her anymore, hating that he went so rough with her ... touched her like she was nothing to him. She told him she needed more than that; she needed someone who would treat her right. 

He couldn’t offer her more than what he was giving her. A casual fuck here and there as he pounded her into the mattress. Taking out all of his frustration on a willing female body; closing his eyes and imagining that it was Granger he was slamming away into... he needed that so badly, it was eating him alive. 

Theo saw it in him. He had offered help multiple times; told him to sell the flat and find a way to buy back the Manor ... readjust to the Wizarding world again. But the spark for it wasn’t there anymore. He didn’t want any of it, he just wanted to be left alone to let his thoughts eat away at him. 

“I’m here if you ever need to talk.” Theo had told him, but he knew full well that Draco would never reach out. 

The further away he got from his friends, the more he always thought of granger. Over time he had built up the kind of woman she would be now in his head. She would be confident and powerful and blazing with emotion. She would match him beautifully in everything and fight him every step of the way. 

His ‘room’ allowed him to add more of her; everything he thought she was and what he wanted her to be, put upon a pedestal. He often drew her with that curious look on her face that she had worn on Christmas day. The way her hair framed her face and her eyes shone out into the dark; warming his soulless body. He found scrapping’s of quotations inside books and wrote them down; things that reminded him of her and the way she made him feel. 

His room was his personal space to just forget. Forget, but remember why he felt the way he did. His shrine was built on pain and sorrow; gift-wrapped in the paper flesh of a person that he didn’t really even know. Someone he had built up in his mind to be the epitome of light; a beacon in his otherwise bleak life. He had to cling onto this ... this was all he had now. She was all he had. 

* * *

  
**26th July 2004**

He hated doing his dirty work. He had lost total passion for field work and despised being called upon. He felt like he was living two lives; the real Draco and a dark mask to hide behind whilst he did bad deeds.

His mood sunk even further whilst out on the field one night; spotting her mulling around and speaking with another Order member whilst in some bushes, attempting quite badly to flirt with her.

And then he kissed her.

Fucking kissed her, straight on the mouth. And she kissed him back. 

The obsession turned sour quite quickly when he saw her. He raged as the flames of jealousy licked up at him. And the realisation that he could never have her crashed down around him, because she didn’t know how he felt. She had no idea that he still even existed... to her, he was nothing. 

Draco grew desperate in that moment. If he could make her feel just like he did then he could make her understand how much he wanted her...he wanted her to feel the pain that he felt, because it consumed him. He wanted it to swallow her whole, too. 

His eyes darkened when a thought occurred to him; he would bide his time. Bide his time, and then one day he would have her all to himself. Keep her safe with him.

* * *

**25th December 2005**

Bath was quiet that Christmas morning; a small smattering of snow on the ground and Draco could see his breath in the air. Muggles passing him cheerily offered him a Merry Christmas. He nodded politely, but he had fuck all to be Merry about. 

This was his quiet time. His time when he didn’t think or feel anything. This was his time to just ... be. He had walked this path so many times since he had bought the flat; it was almost like an extended part of him now. He enjoyed the freedom of coming and going as he pleased; the notion of being hidden from view and able to go undisturbed if he wished to. 

He often wondered what Granger would think of it. Would she mock him for being in the Muggle world? For almost becoming a part of the same thing that he had claimed to loathe since they had known each other? Would she look down on him? 

Draco clenched his fists and tried to rid the thoughts from his mind. It didn’t matter what Granger thought because she would never see this; she would never be part of this and he had to accept it. Even if there did come a point where he managed to get on level footing her, there was no chance she would let him bring her here... to his quiet place. To the part of him that was hidden beneath the dark and the ruined. 

She would never know this part of him. 

Draco breathed in the air and wondered if she had found her present on the doorstep this morning; whether she had waited for it... had anticipated it. Draco had not stuck around to see her reaction this time, he didn’t need to. 

He’d left her a simple package; something he wasn’t even sure she would catch the meaning of. 

Parchment and Spearmint Polo’s. 

Because he remembered everything she ever said. Noted it down in his memory and saved it for a rainy day. 

He wished her a silent Merry Christmas as he faced the sky, and apparated back to his Flat; feeling the need to draw what he thought would be the expression on her face when she found her gift, whispering ‘Merry Christmas’ with the ghost of a smile on her face.

* * *

  
**2006 – Six Months Ago**

Draco panicked. 

He knew it was now imminent that The Dark Lord was going to try and wipe out the Mudblood race, and take Hermione Granger with it. She was still on his hit list due to some information that must have been important. Draco knew that the plan would be moving in soon, and he was at his wits end with what to do. 

They just needed to survive this war. Get through these murky times and then live peacefully, whether that be together or apart. As long as she was safe, he didn’t care. If she was safe then he had done his job and the death of his parents had not been for nothing. 

In his desperation, Draco did the one thing he always said that he would not to; reach out to the enemy. Call out with a white flag to the other side...become a rat. But the things he had done so far to try and keep this girl safe had turned his world upside down, so what was one more thorn to his crown? 

Draco made a connection easier than expected; half wondering if he was falling into a trap. He didn ‘t care though, he just wanted her safe. As long as she was kept safe, nothing else mattered. 

He was told 7pm via his floo network. A conversation needed to be had by a ranking Order member; someone with the power to do something. Draco just hoped that he was believed and that The Order would do what was necessary to keep the girl safe. 

He didn’t bank on George Weasley’s head popping out of his fireplace, eyeing him intently and with much Sceptism.

“Let’s make this quick.” Weasley told him harshly. “I don’t even know if we can trust you. This had better be worth-while Malfoy because –“

“They’re after Granger.” Draco interrupted with a snarl. 

George raised an eyebrow. “They?”

“Death Eaters... The Dark Lord has a plan-“

“Aren’t you a Death Eater?” George asked him mockingly. “You’re part of them-“

“Do you want my fucking information or not Weasley?” Draco almost bellowed, feeling anger prickling his senses. “I’m telling you to keep Granger safe because they want her.” 

“How do I know this isn’t-“

“Oh, for fucks sake...” Draco groaned, feeling frustrated and running a hand through his hair. “If you lot don’t fucking do something then I will! I’ll keep her here myself if I have to! Just take my advice, please...” 

George Weasley studied him seriously for a second within the flames. “What do they have planned for her?” he asked, finally willing to listen.

Draco visibly untensed himself. “She’s got important information that The Dark Lord doesn’t want her using, I assume ...” Draco started. “He wants her and he wants impure blood families wiped out ... he’ll start it soon.” 

Weasley looked deep in thought. “I need leverage, Malfoy. I’m sorry, but you can’t expect me to believe that you’re willing to help The Order by giving us information, just because of Hermione Granger ... there’s got to be some other –“

“There is no other reason.” Draco finished for him indignantly. “I’m telling you this so that you can keep her safe... keep her out of the way while all of this is going on...” 

“She must be important.” George mused.

“She is.” Draco replied quietly. “Whatever information she has in that bloody big brain of hers could possibly be something The Dark Lord fears ... it could be his undoing.”

“I meant to you.” George smirked through the flames and Draco glowered. “I saw the way you looked at her at the Yule Ball ... even Fred said he was surprised you didn’t trip over your own tongue that night.” 

Draco shook his head and bit his lip. “Piss off Weasley, can we just concentrate on the matter at hand please?” 

He heard Weasley chuckle slightly. “Fine, but I still need leverage from you Malfoy, we need to know we can properly trust you.”

Draco sighed in frustration. “I’m giving you inside information... practically being a fucking mole...what more leverage could you possibly –“

“An unbreakable vow, Malfoy.” George told him in a deadpan tone. “I think you were right; you can keep her safe with you. No one will suspect anything; least of all from you... I hear you’re quite the recluse now, not even really a part of our world anymore in your private time.”

Draco took a few breaths. How the fuck did they know that? Was the Prophet still spewing its bile about him? His anger was mingling with anxiety now at the thought of his daydreams coming true ... keeping her safe with him. “Fuck off Weasley.” Draco started, “You’re too trusting to think that I wouldn’t –“

“You wouldn’t hurt her.” George butted in. “You wouldn’t have broken rank and come to us if you didn’t want her safe.” Weasley gave him a pointed look. “... take the vow to protect her at all costs and we can keep her safe with you until the threat has passed.”

Draco huffed. “It’s a lot to ask of a Death Eater.” 

George kept looking at him. “You were seen on multiple occasions, Malfoy ...” he started, and Draco’s blood froze. “...always in the background...always watching. You were never stunned because we wanted to watch you ... see what you were doing ... why you were doing it ...” 

Draco swallowed thickly, feeling shame prickle the back of his neck. Shit ... he thought he had been so careful. 

“She loved the gifts, by the way...” George told him pointedly. “You warmed her heart with those... very nice touch. “

Draco sneered. That was private...

“I often wondered why you had so much interest ... but then the light in your eyes told me everything I need to know, just like the desperation in your body language is telling me now.” 

Draco frowned. “And what exactly am I telling you?”

Weasley smirked. “You’re in love with her.”

Draco felt the Earth spin on its axis. It wasn’t love; it had never been love. It was obsession and possession ... Draco Malfoy didn’t know love. He knew anger and pain and hard, rough fucking ... love was a faraway notion that didn’t concern him. 

“Deny it all you want.” George sniffed, sounding bored. “Just take this vow and we’ll discuss the when’s and the what ifs at a later point, when you get us more information.” 

Draco shook his head. “No more information; I could already be killed for this.” 

“Step between the lines Malfoy ... do the right thing.” Weasley smirked at him again. “Be the hero Hermione won’t see coming.” 

“For fucks sake...” he breathed out. “You’re intolerable...” 

“Take the vow and keep her safe. You’ve been watching over her for long enough already...” Georges voice was quiet now against the crackling of the flames. “You never know, she might even warm to you...”

Draco snorted. “Highly unlikely,” he ran a hand through his hair again. “And she wouldn’t come quietly either; I’d have to pretend I’d kidnapped her or something ... make her trust me slowly until I can explain-“ 

This time it was George who laughed. “You’ll explain nothing. Make her think you’re a monster if you have to; she will not know that The Order have given you permission to do this ... she’ll never forgive any of us.” 

This didn’t settle well with Draco. Weasley wanted him to not tell her why she was with him or why he couldn’t let her out after she had calmed down? He couldn’t tell her the ins and outs of anything? Kept in the dark the whole time? ... fuck ... she really would hate him. Could he make that sort of sacrifice to make sure she was safe?

“This is fucking ridiculous.” Draco announced. “Make myself look like even more of a monster to her, just so she can’t see through the lies keeping her with me?” 

“Your choice, Malfoy ...” George told him seriously. “But you were right; she’s far safer with you... out of the way in the middle of nowhere... no one would come looking for her.”

The bastard was right, of course.

He would be a monster to her, but she would be safe. 

* * *

**2006 – Four Months Ago**

The Forest of Dean; Draco’s chosen place. He found it significant ... like it was the right place to start something new... something that would change his life.

Hands bound together and the magic bound them tighter. 

A promise to keep her from harm. A promise to always keep her safe. A promise to never tell her what had transpired ... and a promise that he would continue to protect her, even if The Order fell. 

Draco felt like he had given his life for Hermione Granger. 

And he didn’t mind it so much. 

* * *

  
**2006 – three Months Ago**

It was time. 

Draco could feel himself held above the pit of despair in the days leading up to it. The loneliness of his flat was finally starting to engulf him and he could feel himself slowly losing his grip on reality ... there was only obsession left. 

He was drinking more. He found it helped to ease the burden of what he was about to do. He had discussed it with Weasley... partly, anyway. 

He had to scare her. Really scare her and create a world where she would think she was the prisoner of the big bad Death Eater. She would hate him and it would kill him, but he had to do what was necessary ... he couldn’t tell her the truth. Unless she found out on her own, of course... 

He was going to find it so hard to touch her and not want to feel how soft her skin was. It was going to kill him to get up close and person with her and not want to put his hands in places that he shouldn’t. And what if she reacted to him? What if she attacked him or cried at him? ... it would break him. 

But then, he was used to it rough ... he could just pretend... pretend and then get fucking carried away in a daydream where she reacted to his touch and wanted what he could give her. And what did he do then? He couldn’t give in ... fuck... he would want to give in so badly. 

But she wouldn’t cave because she didn’t want him. And she would hate him after this...

  
Draco knew that he had drank too much. He felt himself dizzying as he apparated to the spot that Weasley had told him to be in ... but as he got there, he didn’t count on Dolohov already standing there, watching her for himself.

Everything had already been pre-planned with Weasley. He had sent Granger on to the frontline of the field so Draco had her in plain sight. The plan was for Draco to stun her and take her... until Dolohov fucked with his plans. 

Draco knew Dolohov had plans for Granger. He had discussed at length with a few of the others how he was going to take her, torture the fuck out of her and leave her begging for death at The Dark Lord’s hands. Draco had felt sick hearing it.

Now, his brain addled by alcohol, Draco wasn’t quite sure how to attack the situation. He just knew that he needed to get Granger out of there before Dolohov did...so he did the only thing a coward could do; 

He waited for Dolohov to stun Granger, before stunning him from behind -without him knowing... he wasn’t that fucking stupid – and then making a run for it before he was spotted and hexed.

When Draco approached her, he held his breath. She was covered in mud and the blood of other people. Fuck ... still hauntingly beautiful.

As Draco apparated them back to his flat, he realised that his actions that followed were likely now to destroy them both. Destroy her like she destroyed him... destroyed his mind. 

Draco just hoped that he could keep his emotions in check ... prayed that he could. If he couldn’t then she really was going to hate him for the monster that he was. 

He just had to not touch her ... hope that the girl would not provoke him into doing something they would both regret ... 

Fuck ...

He was fucked.

He loved her.

* * *


End file.
